Automail Sorcery
by BandGeek99
Summary: A book with information regarding a man named Nicholas Flamel finds its way into Edward Elric's hands, and he, along with Alphonse, Colonel Mustang, and Winry Rockbell, finds a little more than he bargained for. Animeverse, post-HBP, Edwin.
1. A Whole New World

**Auto-Mail Sorcery — by BandGeek99**

**BandGeek: Ah-ha! My first crossover in a while. Another Harry Potter crossover, no less! I decided to try my hand at the age old HP-meets-Fullmetal aspect of fanfiction...**

**Depthmon: Nerd...**

**BandGeek: *deathglare* Enough outta you.**

**FOR THE RECORD:**

_This takes place after Edward is stabbed by Envy. He does not die, just goes into a comatose-like state from the loss of blood and the pierced organs, etc. The military breaks up the Homunculi's little gathering after Russell and Fletcher Tringham run to HQ (or what's left of it) and tell Mustang's unit what happened. Alphonse used the Philosopher's Stone within him to save Edward's life._

**The Deimon Commander From Hell, Depthmon, and other authors: GET ON WITH IT! (aru!)**

**BandGeek: Oh, yes... er... Well, then. ENJOY!**

**000**

_The text that Edward speaks in the first bit is in Czech and roughly translates to, **The Truth which all men seek, Free your children from this place. Bring your humble servant to the place where he belongs, Beyond the Gates of this Life.** I don't know if the translation given is any good because I used an online translator because I don't speak Czech. But whatever. Anyway. Enjoy._

**000**

Roy Mustang was a colonel of the State. He was suave, debonair, and snarky. He had witnessed the horrors of the Ishbal Massacre; he was the Flame Alchemist, second in battle to no one. He was fast, strong, vigilant.

So when the door of his peaceful office flew open, denting the wall with its force, Roy didn't so much as blink.

"Ah, it's Edward Elric," he noted sardonically, "the Full Metal Shrimp." He smirked and folded his hands on his desk.

"Shut up, Mustang," Edward hissed as he stormed in, "I'm not in the mood to put up with your smartass remarks." Gripped tightly under his arm was a thick, leather-bound book entitled "Remarkable Alchemists and Mages in History".

"Of course. Is Alphonse here too, or are you alone?"

"He's with Major Armstrong," Edward answered shortly. Slamming the book onto Mustang's desk, he glared his senior in the eye. "I've found the key to the Philosopher's Stone. The real one."

"Real one?" Mustang raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

"The one created without genocide."

Roy was interested, a mixture of mild amusement and legitimate wonder. "Continue."

"Nicholas Flamel," Edward began, thumbing through the book to a dog-eared page, "was the creator of the original stone. He made it two hundred-odd years ago, made his discovery public, and then disappeared in the town square with his wife and sons, taking the stone with him."

"Which explains part of the reason why it's considered a myth," Roy concluded.

"Exactly."

"And if he disappeared two hundred years ago," Roy continued as he leaned forward, "what makes you think you'll find him now?"

"I'm going to do the same thing he did with his family, except I'm going to bring Alphonse with me. There's bound to be a relative of his who knows the whereabouts of his stone." The seventeen-year-old looked triumphant. "There's an eye-witness account in here of how Flamel disappeared, it should be fairly simple for an accomplished state alchemist like me."

Mustang could almost see Edward's head inflating. "Uh-huh. Excellent job, Fullmetal. I'll go with you!" The colonel grinned brilliantly, knowing it would annoy Edward to no end.

Edward glared at a spot in the rug, his urge to kill rising. "Damnation," he muttered to himself.

Meanwhile, Roy took possession of the book and began leafing through the section on Flamel. "Perhaps you should consider bringing your mechanic with you. Rockbell, was it? Winry Rockbell? She'd be a valuable asset to our cause."

"You say that like she's a weapon rather than a person," the blonde noted, bitterness evident in his voice. His glare refocused on his superior.

"Maybe that's how I see her."

"You'd damn well better not!" Edward roared, clenching his fists and preparing to transmute his auto-mail.

There was a silence in the room. Neither man moved, silently daring the other to move.

"I'll ask," Edward finally muttered, turning and sulking towards the door.

"Good. I expect you here tomorrow afternoon by three, do you understand, Full Metal?"

"Yeah, yeah," he replied, waving his hand half-heartedly over his shoulder.

"And Edward?"

"What?" The boy still didn't turn.

"I really hope you find it this time."

The blonde exited without another word.

* * *

Alphonse Elric drew the last line on the transmutation circle inside Roy Mustang's now empty office. The circle was five feet in diameter with many different symbols of intricate and ancient craft and Al was the only person that Edward trusted with such a tedious job that required absolute presicion. Despite the fact that he was made entirely of steel, Alphonse had the steadiest hand out of the three alchemists involved.

Outside the office, Edward and Winry sat in the hallway. As she tightened, oiled, and repaired minor damage to his auto-mail, he briefed her on their mission to find Flamel.

"Sounds like fun," Winry remarked, digging for a screwdriver. "Good thing I'm coming along, or else you would rust in no time. Either that, or you'd be falling apart at the joints." To prove her point, she violently tightened a loosening screw in Edward's hand.

"Ouch!" he yelped. The alchemist tried to pry his hand away from his mechanic, but the girl kept an iron grip at the wrist. "Win, that arm's still attached to me you know!"

"Oh, I know. Believe me, I know," she said deviously. She tossed the screwdriver back into her toolbox and closed it up tightly. "Put your shirt back on, I'm done working with your arm. Colonel Mustang said he'd be back soon. I think he's probably just finishing up with Lieutenant Hawkeye. Once he gets back, we'll go."

Edward obeyed, pulling his shirt back on over his blonde head. "Wonder what he wants with Hawkeye?" he asked, following Winry back into the office.

"Brother?" Alphonse said, standing up from his place next to the Elrics' small bags. "Do you have what we need?"

Edward suddenly beamed, looking much like his former self, the person he was before his experiences in alchemy cut his youth short five years previously. "Yep. Once Col. Bastard gets back, we can get on with it."

"Colonel Bastard? You wouldn't happen to be talking about _me_ now, would you?" Mustang appeared seemingly out of nowhere. He leaned on the doorframe, balancing on one leg with his arms folded.

"Matter of fact, yeah, I was," Edward retorted with an obviously sarcastic smile.

"Excellent, Fullmetal Shorty."

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO TINY YOU COULD SQUISH ME LIKE AN ANT, YOU SON OF A BITCH?!" the young blonde roared, attempting to lunge and beat up his superior. He was restrained by one tug from his younger brother and was forced to be content glaring at the dark haired man, instead.

Mustang smirked.

"Let's go, Brother," Alphonse said quietly. "Let's do that alchemic magic trick. Flamel isn't getting any younger."

Edward yanked himself free of his brother, still fuming, and sulked to the circle, digging in the pockets of his trousers for one thing or another. He finally grasped what he was looking for –a small bag of something that gave off an aroma not unlike that of a rare kind of herb– and placed it reverently in the center of the transmutation circle, he motioned with his auto-mail arm for the others to join him.

The three alchemists and mechanic shouldered their bags (and in Winry's case, her toolbox) and stood on the edge of the circle.

"Join hands," Edward commanded.

The others complied.

"Concentrate on putting all your energy on the bag in the center of the circle." The blonde closed his eyes and began murmuring something quietly.

Mustang watched the teenager intently. His lips moved speedily but steadily, murmuring the passage he'd memorized so well. It was an ancient passage written in an unknown tongue, as old and mysterious as the legend of the Philosopher's Stone itself. It was a strange incantation, indeed.

"_Pravdy, které všichni lidé hledají zdarma děti z tohoto místa._

_Přineste si pokorný sluha Chcete-li místo, kam patří, za brány tohoto života."_

A flash of light and air blew papers about and shattered the windows, but the four had vanished, leaving only the transmutation circle behind.

* * *

When Edward finally came to, he was facedown in the dirt with his arm around Winry in a meager attempt to shield her and with his brother on his back. "Al…" he groaned. "Gerroff…"

"Sorry, Ed," the suit of armor said, standing up and relieving the sixteen-year-old of all the pressure.

"Fullmetal? Are you okay?" Mustang asked and Edward could see his boss' feet not too far away.

"I'm fine, Mustang." He slid into a kneeling position, releasing Winry, who lay unconscious next to him. He gently moved her onto her back and placed his fingers on her neck, searching for a pulse. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he found the steady rhythm, and his heart finally slowed. _Funny… I don't remember feeling this scared for Winry before… except that time with Barry the Chopper in Central…_

"Brother! Brother, we made it!" Alphonse exclaimed, and behind him, Edward could hear the suit of metal clank and creak as his brother stood, collecting their scattered bags.

"Edward…" Winry murmured, her once placid brow furrowing.

"Yeah?" His amber eyes glittered with hope. This was it… she was going to say it… the day he'd dreamed about…

"Careful with your automail! I don't want you swimming with it, dummy, you'll rust!" she scolded sleepily.

"…"

"Poor little Edward," Roy teased from a fair distance away. "Did you get turned down again?"

Edward spun around and glared at the colonel. "Better wipe that smirk off your face before I turn you to stone."

"Of course."

"Ow…" moaned Winry.

Ed turned his attention back to her. "Winry! Are you okay?"

"My head hurts," she whined quietly, sitting up and rubbing her forehead.

Edward gently rubbed her head with his flesh and blood hand. A small, soft smile graced his face. "Wuss."

"I wouldn't be talking, Pipsqueak! Who was it that bawled like a baby when I put on new automail?" Even half asleep with a headache, Winry was as sharp-tongued as ever.

"Hey! That hurt, alright?! And besides, the only time I did that was the first time I got it, when I was eleven years old! I didn't even cry, I just yelled. ONCE! And you would too, if you just got a fake limb!" he cried defensively. "Good God!"

The blonde girl smiled. "I looooove you Edward," she sang innocently.

Her childhood sweetheart blushed lightly and looked away from her. "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

As Edward and Winry picked themselves up, Mustang scanned the area.

They appeared to be in a small rural village, not unlike that from which the boys had come from back in Amestris. Mountains surrounded the small cluster of thatched roofs and wooden houses. In the distance, Roy was able to spot a large castle, smoke emitting from small chimneys.

Alphonse spotted it, too. "Maybe Flamel lives in that castle," he reasoned.

Edward nodded, dusting off his red jacket. "He's probably famous, an accomplished alchemist like him."

Mustang wasn't so sure, but he said nothing.

The four companions slowly trudged up the dirt road towards the large stone building, not knowing what lay ahead.

As the gates loomed closer and closer, Edward grew steadily more uneasy. The building gave off a glow reminiscent of the Philosopher's Stone from a crack in one of the towers. It wouldn't have been obvious to most people who weren't looking for it, but the elder Elric brother had trained himself to be on the lookout for such a hue of red. After all, after spending four years searching for the Stone wasn't just spent romping through the fields and down the roads.

"Something's here," he murmured quietly and Alphonse turned back to face his brother.

"The Stone?"

"Likely."

"I see," Mustang said quietly and approached the large set of gates. Wrought iron and stone were impermeable to his fire. "Fullmetal. Can you make us a door?"

"Can I make us a door?" Edward repeated with a scoff. "Of course I can! Watch me." He strode forward, smirking smugly, and clapped his gloved hands together. He laid them on the stone wall beside the iron gates and a door was forged straight through the granite. "Child's play."

The Colonel rolled his eyes.

The group made their way through the archway, Alphonse ducking slightly. They appeared to be on a large green lawn of sorts. In the distance to their left, they could see a small hut with smoke emitting from the chimney. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that it was probably the home of the groundskeeper.

"This is such a pretty little place," Winry cooed, smiling and skipping ahead. "The gardens over there are so nice. And look at that little cottage! It's almost like Resembool!"

"Except the only famous alchemists to come from Risembool were Edward Elric and Hoenhiem of Light," Roy put in, sliding his hands into his pockets.

"Don't even _think_ about that bastard around me," Edward snarled, glaring at his superior officer.

"Now, now, Major Elric, no need to get snippy with the Colonel," Mustang reprimanded with a smirk.

Ed began muttering incoherently under his breath; words which Alphonse assumed were long, drawn out curses and death wishes for the Colonel.

The group of four traveled up the sloping lawn along a dirt road, lined with geraniums and other flowers that seemed to do well in the sunny-but-cool weather. The castle loomed closer to them, seeming more ominous now that they were closer by. Off to the far right, they could see a lake twinkling faintly in the distance and to the left, by the hut, a large, deep forest sprawled across the land.

Edward ran ahead, his automail leg clunking subtly, and banged heavily on the door. "Hey, in there! Let us in!"

The other three sweatdropped. It was just like Ed to be loud and obnoxious without an ounce of propriety.

Surprisingly, though, the door creaked open, revealing a tall, thin woman with hair wrapped up into a tight bun. She sported an emerald green dress-and-robe and a black hat was perched atop her head. "May I help you?" she asked, her voice brisk and accented with something that none of the newcomers were terribly familiar with. She was flanked by three men in robes of various shades, all glaring at the newcomers suspiciously.

"Ve're looking for Nicholas Flamel," Edward stated. The language he spoke in was not their own; however, each somehow knew how to speak it. While the woman's syllables sounded crisp somehow, the Amestrians' speech would probably be heavily accented, as Edward's was. _The Gate, maybe?_ Edward wondered.

The woman watched them intently. "Please hold out your left forearms."

Edward blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Minerva, you can't honestly think that this would stop them," one of the men hissed.

"If they were Death Eaters then they might have already killed us," another said to the first with a nod of the head. "But they certainly wouldn't show you their Dark Marks!"

"That's enough. I'm just being cautious," the woman said with an exasperated sigh.

"If you were being cautious, then you wouldn't have opened up for them in the first place!" a third man roared.

She paid them no mind. "Left forearms, please," the woman stated again. "I will not ask you again."

The two military personnel looked at their companions, and then shrugged, and pulled up their sleeves, doing what was asked. Alphonse shifted uncomfortably and held out his armor, as it was all he could do.

The woman nodded at the three flesh-and-blood arms, then turned to Alphonse. "And you, sir?"

"T'at _is_ his forearm," Edward sighed. "If ve can pleese speak vit Flamel, I'm sure he'll understand, given the circumstances, and—"

"Please, just come in," the woman sighed, opening the door wider. "I'm Professor Minerva McGonagall, and Nicholas Flamel is most certainly not here at the moment. Would you please follow me to my office?"

"Professor, do you—" the second man began but was cut off by McGonagall.

"That is _enough_, Alastor," she told him fiercely. "You may all return home for the time being; our meeting is over for today."

The three said farewell and strode towards the doorway in which the Amestrians stood. They glared at the foreigners, obviously mistrusting, and the first man shook his head, muttering under his breath about how foolish senile the woman had gotten in her old age.

As soon as the men had left, the four Amestrians entered the foyer of the building and found themselves in a large chamber with a large set of stairs on one side, a hallway at the back, and a large door to the side. It was impressive, that was for certain, but the Minerva McGonagall woman just strode onwards up the stairs, leaving them no choice but to follow.

"May I ask who you all are?" she asked, not turning to face them, but continuing onwards.

"Colonel Roy Mustang," Mustang said politely. "Here vit my subordinate Major Edvard Elric and his brudder Alphonse."

"And the young lady?"

"I'm Vinry Rockbell, Ed's mechanic," Winry said brightly.

"Mechanic?" McGonagall paused and turned around, a perplexed expression on her face.

"Like I said, I'll explain ven I see Flamel," Edward growled.

"And like _I_ said, Major Elric, Mr. Flamel isn't here. You'll have to explain in my office."

Edward just nodded. She was _scary_ when she was cross.

The group slowly trekked up the stairs, down a series of confusing hallways, and through a door with a large lion carved into it.

It was a small office, cozy, though, with a roaring fire in the hearth. A desk and two chairs dominated the center while bookshelves took up most of the wall space. Titles included things like, "Basic Transfiguration" and "Animagi and Other Shapeshifters". It was all very intriguing to Edward; "transfiguration" did, after all, sound like "transmutation" and the young blonde wondered if they were the same thing or not. Behind the desk, several portraits hung, the most ornate one of a sleeping old man.

"Now, please, take a seat." The woman pulled a long, thin stick from her sleeve and waved it in the air. Edward found this slightly amusing until three extra chairs appeared from nowhere, baffling him.

_With alchemy, one can do almost anything. But… It's impossible to create something out of nothing. Humankind cannot gain anything with out giving something in return. To obtain, something of equal value must be lost. This is alchemy's first law of Equivalent Exchange._ His teacher's first lesson pounded through his head and he could tell Roy and Alphonse were confused as well. Winry, though, not really knowing much about alchemy, thought that it was something any accomplished alchemist could do.

"Might I know _why_ you're here at Hogwarts?" the older woman asked coolly but politely.

"Ah, ve're looking for Nicholas Flamel, ma'am," Alphonse replied, shifting awkwardly in his seat. "We t'ink he might know somet'ing t'at ve need for our research to be complete."

"And what would this pertain to?"

"Alchemy," Edward stated bluntly. "More importantly, the Philosopher's Stone."

Minerva's eyes peaked with interest. "Really? I was under the impression that the Stone had been destroyed, as per request of the late Professor Dumbledore."

Edward's face fell. "Destroyed?"

"No, Minerva, not destroyed," a wise-sounding voice corrected and McGonagall turned to one of the many portraits on the wall behind her.

The portrait was of a wizened old man with half-moon spectacles, a broken-looking nose, and a long, white beard. He smiled at them and then stood from the chair in which he was seated.

Edward was stunned. This wasn't possible. This couldn't be happening. It was a trick of the light, a hallucination… Whatever it was, it couldn't possibly be a moving, talking picture with any intelligence whatsoever. It wasn't logical, it didn't follow the rules of science, the rules of nature; _it was impossible._

Winry stared at the portrait slack-jawed and Roy blinked multiple times, as if he was trying to make sure he wasn't dreaming it. Alphonse let out a small gasp and McGonagall acted like this happened every day.

"Ah, Albus, I had no idea you were awake."

"That's quite alright," the man in the portrait stated with a smile. "On my way to visit the Fat Lady in Gryffindor Tower, I couldn't help but overhear this conversation. Oh, please forgive me. I am Albus Dumbledore, the late headmaster of Hogwarts School."

"E-Edvard Elric," Ed stuttered. "And, um, Colonel Bast—I mean, Mustang, my brudder Alphonse, and my mechanic Vinry Rockbell."

"Pleasure to meet you all," Albus stated calmly. "I beg your pardon for asking, but why is it exactly you need the Philosopher's Stone? Surely you don't wish to gain immortality, the ability to turn lead into gold, that sort of thing?"

Edward cocked an eyebrow, getting over his shock at the talking portrait. "Vy vould I vant immortality? And turning lead into gold is illegal. Besides; it is child's play. I don't care about t'at."

Albus looked intrigued. "Child's play, you say? Not even the most powerful of all wizards can do such a thing without the assistance of the Stone."

Ed rolled his eyes. "It is simple. You break down the lead and rearrange the elements of it, bending the atoms so each is just so and t'us create gold. It is simple, but it is difficult, not to mention illegal. I mean, if ev'ry alchemist went around turning lead to gold, t'en money vould haff no vorth."

Albus and McGonagall looked shocked at his words.

"I haff no int'rest in money, unless it can help my research fund, vich the Colonel here decides he will make smaller each month," Edward declared, shooting a glare at Mustang, who watched him with an innocent expression.

"Alchemist, you say?" Albus asked, leaning forward curiously. "I thought alchemy was a dead art."

"Dead art?" Winry asked, then turned to look at the three males beside her. "I t'ought you said t'at it vas practiced nationvide!" Her face growing pink, she pulled a wrench from her pocket and hurled it at Edward's blonde head. "Vere you lying to me, you pipsqueak?!"

"Vhy vould I lie to you about somet'ing that vould be stupid to lie about?!" Edward shouted back. "And I'm not a pipsqueak, you machine junkie!"

"Alchemy nerd!"

"You know, its no vonder you never haff any dates ven ve come to see you! You act like a _man_, Vinry!" he muttered under his breath.

"Vat vas t'at you said about me?"

"Not'ing. Shut up and leaff me alone, I'm not finished talking to the freaky guy in the painting," he snapped and turned his attention back to Dumbledore. "It's not a dead art, its practiced vorldvide. Vhere haff you been living, under a rock?"

"Brudder," Alphonse hissed.

Albus smiled good-naturedly. "Ah. So. You must be from that land called Amestris, am I correct? The same place that Nicholas was from?"

"Nicholas Flamel?" Mustang asked, finally regaining his voice.

"Yes. Mr. Flamel was a good friend of mine, whence I was still alive," Albus recalled with a nod of his head. "He created the first Philosopher's Stone, no?"

"The first one wit'out the use of genocide? Yes," Edward responded. "And it is important t'at I find out how he did it as soon as possible, or even use the stone itself."

"May I inquire as to why?"

Edward felt all eyes in the room on him, wondering whether he was going to reveal his secret or not. He sighed and shut his eyes in frustration. This sucked. "Vat I'm about to show you," he said quietly, "is never—ever—to leaff this room. Am I clear?"

Professor McGonagall nodded, as did Dumbledore from his portrait.

"Good." Edward stood and pulled off his jacket, dropping it onto the chair, and then removed his black shirt and gloves, leaving only his undershirt. His right arm glinted in the light of the candles and McGonagall looked slightly scared at the metal limb and Edward smirked wider. "I've lost my arm and my leg. Alphonse is just a soul bonded to t'at suit of armor. Ve lost our bodies to alchemy; quvite frankly, I just vant to get my brudder back to normal. I could not care less about haffing metal limbs."

"And I don't mind it either; he's going to pay for a mansion for me all on his own someday," Winry said, smiling innocently, gently stroking her wrench with her thumb. "Isn't t'at right, Ed?"

"Only cuz you charge a fortune each time I get a scratch on t'is t'ing…" Ed muttered, rubbing his automail forearm.

"Hey! T'at's my best work and you run around the country vit' it, treating it like it's a toy!"

"I haff a job to do, Automail Junkie, so you back off about vat I use my arms and legs for!"

"Stupid Alchemy Freak!"

"I resent t'at!"

"No, you _resemble_ it!"

By this time, both parties were on their feet, eye to eye, screaming each other in the face.

"Um… Brudder… Vinry…" Alphonse had one hand up in a hesitant manner, thinking of what he could do to calm the two down. "Er…"

"Shut up, Fullmetal."

"No, I don't t'ink I vill!" Ed declared before continuing his rant with Winry.

"Yes, you vill, or I'll court martial you, Shrimp!"

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO TINY HE NEEDS A LADDER TO GET FROM VUN STAIR TO ANUT'ER?!" Ed roared, ADD-ing on Winry and turning to yell at his superior.

"You."

"If I vere you, I'd shut up right now, Mustang, or I'm going to transmute your ass to t'at chair!" Ed screamed, clapping his hands together.

"I can haff you court-martialed for t'at, Fullmetal," Mustang declared.

"Would you quit t'reatening me vit' t'at stupid t'ing?! I don't _care_ if I get a goddamn court martial!" the blonde ranted, glaring at his superior officer. He turned back to the portrait and to the older woman sitting before him. "Now, for the last time, _vere is the Philosopher's Stone?_"

But Dumbledore had left the portrait, somehow, and McGonagall obviously had no idea.

* * *

**H'okay. So. What do you think?**

**Some of it might be hard to follow, especially when Ed and co. are speaking English. Hope you enjoyed, please press that lovely little green-and-white button right under this and tell me what you liked/didn't like about it.**

**Thanks!**

**--BG--**


	2. Mrs Weasley's Discovery

**Okay, so, first chapter was iffy with the Amestrian's English. I'm hoping to clarify that a little bit more…**

If they are speaking with a** heavily written accent **or** to a person **who** does not speak Amestrian,** assume that they are speaking** English.** I will try to specify which language they are speaking with the accents, but I understand that it doesn't always come across properly.

And just so you know, I imagine the** accent** being sort of** a cross between German and Russian,** since "Conqueror" takes place in Germany but "Bratja" is written in Russian. (I always associated Amestris with speaking Russian for some reason, but I think that they might be able to pull off German…)

Anyway… Please enjoy!** Poor English = [equals] The Amestrians. No accent/poor spellings/pronunciations = [equals] Speaking Amestrian.**

**I don't own, you don't sue. Enjoy.**

**

* * *

**

Winry sighed and fell back on the cushions on a bed above a small bar called the Three Broomsticks, a wizarding pub in the village they had first arrived in. Since she was the only woman in the group, the four had opted to get one room for her and one room for Edward and Mustang, since each room had either one or two beds (and since Alphonse couldn't sleep even if he wanted to, it didn't matter that he would merely sit in with his brother and Colonel).

Alphonse sat on the window seat, his helmet facing the mountainous landscape outside. "Wow. I can't believe we made it here, of all places. That Mr. Dumbledore… I've never seen a picture do that before in my whole life!" he exclaimed in Amestrian. Even though Winry couldn't see the look on the young teenager's face, she was certain that if he could have, he would have been grinning like mad with a look of certain wonder and excitement.

"It looked like it scared your brother a bit. I know it scared me," she remarked in the same language, not sitting up yet. She faced the ceiling, her arms and legs sprawled out. She didn't care if it was unladylike; she was dead tired. She gazed blankly at a crack in the ceiling plaster and sighed. Would she ever see Resembool again? Sure, they'd made it here, but still…

"I was a little bit… startled," Alphonse admitted, searching for the right word. "But I'm not too pleased that it looks like its going to rain. And I don't think Brother is, too, because of my blood seal."

"And his automail," Winry growled. "If that rusts, he will be a dead man. I don't feel like working my ass off over it while I'm here."

"You say that like this is a vacation," Al stated, swinging his legs to the floor and standing.

"Well, to me, it is… sort of. I mean, I don't have to build or work with patients," Winry clarified.

The suit of armor nodded in understanding.

There was a gentle knock at the door and a tired voice called, "Hey, Winry, are you decent?"

"Yeah," she called back and the door creaked open a bit for Edward to poke his head in.

"Hey. The bastard of a colonel and I were gonna go get some dinner. You hungry?" The blonde turned his head to his brother. "You're welcome to tag along if you'd like, even if you can't eat anything."

Winry sighed and held her hands straight up in the air. "Gotta get me up. I'm too lazy."

Alphonse chuckled as his brother groaned and offered her his automail hand, pulling her up with one swift tug and instinctively catching her round the waist.

The two stayed like that for a moment, forgetting about Alphonse. Both of their faces were slightly pink in embarrassment, but neither moved from their rather intimate embrace until Alphonse coughed awkwardly.

"Er… we should head down," Ed said quietly, taking a step back and bowing his head, letting his bangs cover his face in a vain effort to keep Winry from seeing his blush.

"Sure." Winry headed out the door, still holding onto the automail she had once slaved so hard over.

Alphonse silently followed them, smirking on the inside at the awkward first love.

Mustang was already downstairs in the dining room, reading a newspaper that had been in his bag from Central. A bottle marked "Oak-Matured Mead" was sitting on the table, along with a half-eaten dish of an appetizer of some sort.

"Couldn't have waited for us, old man?" Edward complained, dropping into a chair opposite the Flame Alchemist. "Damnation. Haven't you ever heard of manners?"

"Of course, Fullmetal, but I had no idea you were going to take so long upstairs."

Edward scowled at the taller man and folded his arms across his chest, leaning back into the seat.

Winry sat down beside him, greeting the Colonel politely and Alphonse, having spotted a small kitten in the doorway, picked it up and sat down at the bar, talking with the bartender as he stroked the small feline affectionately.

A petite blonde girl with long, blonde curls and vacant blue eyes tottered to the table that the two military officers and the mechanic were sitting at, wearing the blue dress and white apron of the waitresses at the pub. "Good evening. I'm Luna; I'm here to take your order. What can I get you all tonight?" Her voice was just as vacant as her smiling expression, Edward noted, and she had a strange bottle-cap necklace and radishes for earrings.

"I'll haff a garden salad, pleese," Winry decided, smiling innocently at the other girl.

"Steak," Roy stated, not looking up from his newspaper.

"Some stew," Edward said quietly, turning his head to look out the window.

"Be right back," Luna said dreamily and turned to leave.

"T'ank you!" Winry called, then turning to watch Edward for a moment. She wasn't sure what he was thinking about. The face that showed so much emotion was dead serious as he stared at the grey clouds hovering above the village. His eyes flashed darkly and he bit his lip, thinking hard about something or other. "Hey, Ed?" she asked gently, switching back to Amestrian.

"What?" he asked automatically.

"Do you… really think that it's here?" she asked quietly. She didn't quite understand why this was the only way to get Al's body back, but she knew it was important to the brothers.

"If its not, then the higher-ups are going to skin me alive," he joked half-heartedly.

"Seriously, Ed," she murmured, leaning slightly over the table.

"It was here, at one point. But now… Now, I have no idea."

There was silence between the two of them. Mustang continued to flip through the paper, occasionally taking a sip of the mead from a large glass mug, and Alphonse started laughing at something the bartender—Madame Rosmerta, was that her name?—had said.

"If it starts to rain," Winry began, breaking the silence, "then you had better keep that arm and leg dry. If you rust I will personally throw my entire arsenal of tools at your head."

Edward sighed, a small smile coming over his features. "I think I'd rather live, thanks."

"But my wrench _loves_ your skull," Winry whined, poking her companion.

Ed groaned.

By the end of dinner, the Colonel had said maybe two words, but looked too perturbed to comment on anything the conversation held.

"Hey, Mustang, what's got your panties in a knot?" Ed finally asked, reaching across the table and snatching the newspaper out of his hands.

"The date. Read it."

The young Major cocked his eyebrow, but did as he was told. As he did so, his pulse quickened and his jaw dropped; _August 23__rd__, 1997._ "1997?" he murmured quietly. "But… that's… no way."

"That's what I said," Mustang sighed wearily. He ran a hand through his messy dark hair; Edward noticed that although the Colonel wasn't much older than twenty six, being in the military had made him age beyond his years. It was one of those times when the pompous, perverted, hot-headed idiot bastard slipped away and was replaced with someone who'd seen too much, done too much, hurt too much, been hurt too much, from an exceptionally young age. It was an expression so similar to his own, Edward realized somewhat furiously.

"What is it?" Winry demanded, peeking over Edward's arm, then gasping. "What the hell?!"

"Not very ladylike, Winry," Edward said somewhat automatically.

She whacked him upside the head with her hand, seeing as she'd left her wrench upstairs.

"So… We brought ourselves eighty years into the future," Edward stated warily, still transfixed on the newspaper.

"Into a community of so-called _wizards_, no less."

"This is too weird… Why did I agree to come with you morons again?" Winry muttered quietly to herself, folding her arms and leaning back in her chair.

"Shut up, Winry," Edward snapped. "We're no happier about it than you are."

She glared at him. "I can't believe you talked me into coming."

"How did I talk you into this, Win?" he demanded, turning to face her angrily. His golden eyes were lit with an inferno that Winry had only seen once before, when she was twelve years old and in the clutches of a serial killer who had stolen Edward's automail arm and was about to make mincemeat out of them both. "Do you mind telling me? I believe I called you saying 'Winry, I'm going to find Nicholas Flamel, get the Stone, and get Al's body back. Mustang wants me to take you. It might be dangerous; I want you to stay. But I was ordered to make this call. I'll see you when I see you.' And I _believe_ that you started yelling into my ear something like 'There's no way in all of Amestris that you're going to find anything without someone who knows proper maintenance, you moron!' So, I don't believe I talked you into it in any way. I wanted you to _stay home_, Winry, where you're safe! I've already screwed over so many people as it is; I don't want the same to happen to you!"

Mustang's upper lip twitched. The tension between the two was so thick it could be cut with a knife, but it was just between the two of them. Looking on, it was actually quite comical. The two often got into stupid fights like this, and it was understandable; they were both stubborn as mules and had known each other since they were young children. Always bickering, like an old married couple. It was somewhat endearing, if not a tad irritating.

Winry stared back at the blonde alchemist, biting her trembling lower lip. Her blue eyes bore into his before she finally stood up and stormed back upstairs.

"Winry, wait a second, I—"

But she was already gone.

Edward groaned and put his head into his hand. "Damn it, I screwed up _again_…"

"That you did, Fullmetal."

"Shut up, Flame Bastard."

Mustang, for once, complied.

* * *

In the small town of Little Whinging, in Surrey, England, a young teenager with black hair and shamrock eyes roamed the streets of a quiet residential neighborhood. His hands resting behind his head, he strode on casually, wondering what exactly would happen when September came around. Three days until school started again. He had no idea whether or not he'd go back, whether he'd fight or run.

His name was Harry Potter. He looked like a typical student to any who saw him, but in truth, he was really a savior to many, a burden to some, and a threat to others. But here, in this neighborhood, he was the village idiot. His aunt and uncle's family made him out to be a juvenile delinquent who went to a reform school each year (though that was far from the truth). He had no real family; save for the Weasley clan and the Order of the Phoenix (although they treated him more like a child than an equal, which irritated him to no end). He'd just broken up with the girl who he was pretty sure was the love of his life, and he knew that he was putting the lives of his friends and classmates in jeopardy just by associating with them.

Oh, yes, there was much more to this student than met the eye.

A loud cracking noise alerted him to the presence of someone, someone of… his world.

For Harry Potter was not an ordinary boy. No, by all means no. He was a wizard, the Boy-Who-Lived, sworn enemy of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Harry tensed and his hand traveled towards his back pocket, where his wand was stowed away. He had to be ready at a second's notice if he was to escape an attack.

But the cracking noise gave way to two disheveled men, identical in appearance, wearing matching magenta robes and with bright red hair.

"Harry, put the wand away. We're not…"

"…here to hurt you," the second huffed, finishing the first's sentence.

"Identify yourselves," Harry demanded, as he had been ordered to do by the Order in a letter.

"Fred Mathias Weasley, mate, twin to George, you gave us forty-thousand galleons to start our joke shop," the first said with a sigh, rolling his eyes.

"George Douglas Weasley, twin to Fred, tried to make our brother Ron make an Unbreakable Vow when we were kids," the second said, grinning toothily in contrast to his brother.

Harry sighed and let his hand drop. "Hello, you two. What's the grand occasion?"

"Bringing you back to the Burrow," Fred declared, striding forward and linking arms with the seventeen-year-old. "Mad-Eye reckons it's high time for you to get out of this stinking place."

"Couldn't agree more," Harry muttered as George followed his brother's example. "But what about my trunk and—"

"Tonks and Lupin are already on it," George clarified. "Now, on the count of three, Fred. One…"

"Two…"

"Three!"

Harry felt both twins spin on their heels and suddenly felt as though he was being squeezed through a very thin tube. Landscapes, homes, towns, all sorts of pictures flew past him in every direction, but they were too fleeting for him to catch a cold hard glance of anything. Suddenly, but after an eternity it seemed, his feet felt the ground again and he had to resist the urge to drop and kiss the dirt beneath him.

"Blimey, Harry, are you alright?"

"You look like you died and no-one told you."

"Oh, _Harry!_"

Over the sound of the twins bombarding him with questions and remarks of absolutely no significance, Harry made out the sound of Hermione's concerned shriek. His head was still spinning too fast for him to comprehend shapes of people; it was painful for him to look straight ahead.

"You kept your eyes open, didn't you? Oh, Harry, you _idiot_!" she cried and he felt her fling her arms around him, almost toppling him over.

"Oi, 'Mione, give him space to breathe, would you?" Ron Weasley asked and Harry felt Hermione's grip on him slacken some. "He looks like he just Apparated with his eyes open."

"I-I did…" Harry stuttered, still swaying slightly. His vision was slowly but surely focusing, though. _Well… that's good… isn't it?_

"Well, that explains it then, mate!" Fred declared loudly, clapping Harry on the back. "Everyone knows that doing it with your eyes open is an open invitation to make yourself sick!"

Harry glared in what he thought was Fred's general direction. "Yeah, well, I know that now, don't I?"

"Come on inside, Mum's been worried sick ever since they left to get you," Ron said, sliding his arm around his friend. "Jeez, Harry, you look like you died."

"So I've been told," Harry chuckled weakly, tottering from side to side as his friend led him into the house.

Molly Weasley stood over the stove, mixing something or other in a pot, and looked up when the door opened. "Oh, Harry, dear, how wonderful to see you! My, you look peaky."

"Apparated… eyes open…" he said, not quite able to string together a coherent sentence.

"Oh, you poor dear! Have a cup of this, it'll liven you right up." Mrs. Weasley put a steaming mug of tea down in front of the shaken teenager. "I make the brew myself; put some pepper-up potion in it, too."

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley," he muttered and gratefully accepted the mug of tea.

"Molly! Minerva's here by Floo!" a man called, and Harry recognized the voice as Mr. Weasley's.

"Send her in, I'm tending to Harry at the moment, dear," Mrs. Weasley called back.

"It's all right, Mum, we can take care of him," Ron stated in mild exasperation, but his mother waved him off.

Minerva McGonagall strode into the small kitchen, a small smile on her face. "Molly, Potter, Granger, Weasley."

"Minerva, wonderful to see you," Molly said warmly, nodding as she dumped another large hunk of meat into the pot on the stove. "What brings you here?"

"What do you know of the Philosopher's Stone and its alchemic properties?" McGonagall asked suddenly, leaning on the table ever so slightly.

Hermione and Ron stared at her in confusion and Harry nearly spat out his tea.

"Alchemical properties?" Mr. Weasley asked, striding in. "But the Philosopher's Stone was created through magic. What alchemic properties could it hold? Besides, it was destroyed years ago."

"Apparently not. I've called a meeting of the Order for tonight to discuss a new branch of developments."

The three Hogwarts students could only watch mutely as the Weasley parents nodded.

"What does alchemy have to do with anything, though? Isn't it a dead art?" Mrs. Weasley asked, still cooking.

"Apparently not," McGonagall said again, taking a seat at the table. "We seem to have found certified national alchemists. They claim that they're in the military for their country, but it's a place we've never heard of before, a land called Amestris."

"And their names?" Mr. Weasley inquired, following suit.

"Colonel Roy Mustang and Major Edward Elric."

Mrs. Weasley dropped her cooking spoon. "Elric?" she breathed quietly.

"Does the name sound familiar, Molly?" Arthur queried, watching his wife with concern.

"I know the name. Edward, Edward was his son. He was our neighbor… Elric… But it couldn't be! He said his son had died in 1917!"

"Who, exactly, Mrs. Weasley?" Hermione asked. Of the three students, she was the only one who had found their voice.

"Hohenhiem. Van Hohenhiem Elric."

* * *

**Vell, t'at is all for now. (Heehee... accents are fuuun!)**

**Did their English get worse? Yes. Yes it did. I realized that I didn't like them being so understandable in the first chapter... It makes more sense to me if their speech is impared, mostly so that you people can understand the difference between the two languages.**

**Anyway. Reviews?**

**Thanks!  
===BANDGEEK===**


	3. Order of the Phoenix

**Chapter 3**

_Yeah, yeah, whatever happened to not updating? Heh... WELL, I'm-a bein lazy... and not doing schoolwork... because i'm lazy... (didn't i say that already? Yeah, yeah, I think I did...)_

_ANYWAY. Please, enjoy this next chapter, as the next one will prolly take a while._Edward yawned and stretched his automail arm, smiling slightly as the hydraulic muscles hissed and the steel joints creaked. It was a good sound; the sound of another day, a satisfied limb, and a readiness to fight whatever came his way.

* * *

"Brother? Are you going back to that castle place today?" Alphonse asked him as his brother dropped to the ground for push-ups.

"Yeah," Edward replied. "Why do you ask?" He counted the numbers under his breath.

"No reason. I was just curious."

The older cocked an eyebrow, unbelieving, but said nothing.

"Ed, Al, we're going to eat some breakfast and then walk around town for a little while, okay?" Winry said, knocking on the door.

"Alright," Al called back and Edward merely grunted in acknowledgment.

The suit of armor watched Ed carefully. Usually there would be more of a response to anything Winry told him. So why in the world was he being so… rude? "Did you get in a fight with her?" he asked quietly.

Edward looked up. "W-why do you care?"

"I'll take that as a yes."

Ed groaned.

"Really. What were you arguing about this time?" Alphonse asked, perching on the bed.

"It was stupid. She got mad at me and said that I talked her into this mess and then I retaliated and yelled back and then she looked like she was gonna cry and ran upstairs." The elder of the two rolled onto his back and massaged his temples with his forefingers. "I'm such a moron. I always screw this stuff up. _Always_!" He lifted his head a few inches and slammed it against the hardwood flooring, letting the pain rush through his entire body as an apt punishment for his idiotic behavior.

The younger of the two had to summon all his might not to laugh at his older brother. Edward got far too emotional over what he himself would typically brand foolish things. Somewhat ironic, really.

"Don't beat yourself up over it. Just say that you're sorry and that will be the end of it."

The Fullmetal Alchemist sighed. "I know, I know. It's just…"

"You're scared? My brother is scared? Of _Winry_?" Alphonse couldn't help it now; he was laughing like a lunatic.

"You have no idea how hard that damn wrench is, Al! Shut up or I'll transmute you to the wall!"

"D-don't even joke about that!" Alphonse cried, scrambling to his feet on top of the bed. "Stop it!"

"Come on, Al, I was just kidding," Edward said, smirking at his brother's reaction. "Who knows what that would do to you?"

Alphonse didn't say anything, but climbed off the bed and headed towards the door. "Winry and Colonel Mustang are waiting. We ought to get out there."

Edward was mute as he pulled on a white button down over his undershirt and picked up a black jacket (both borrowed from Mustang) before following his brother out the door.

"Major Elric, Alphonse," McGonagall greeted sternly as the two brothers set foot on the floor of the dining room of the Three Broomsticks.

"Good morning, Professor," Alphonse said politely in English, bowing ever so slightly.

Edward simply nodded in acknowledgment.

"The Professor is villing to speak vit' us back at t'e school, in a safe room," Mustang said from a seat at a table. A Wizarding newspaper was open in front of him as he absently stirred a bowl of oatmeal. "Eat somet'ing and ve'll leave."

"Yes, Your Royal Highness…" Ed muttered under his breath, pulling out a chair and snatching a slice of toast off of his superior officer's plate. He took a large bite of it and chewed hastily, then dropped the slice of bread on the table. "I'm done."

Winry groaned in exasperation from somewhere on the other side of the room, by the windows, where she stood staring outside at the cloudy sky.

_What did I say?_ Edward silently wondered but only tweaked his eyebrow. "So are ve going or not, Professor?"

"We shall. There are a few people I'd like you to meet."

The Colonel looked up. "People? Vonderful." He smiled strangely; it was a mix between a grin and a grimace, and it certainly didn't suit his features.

Alphonse's demeanor lifted, as well. "Maybe ve'll be able to see if any of t'em know about t'e Philosopher's Stone!"

McGonagall inhaled sharply but said nothing other than, "Come along."

* * *

Molly Weasley was not the type to get overly hysterical about death of most people (meaning those she was not close to); she accepted it as a part of life. But this was too much for her.

She'd seen a photograph of her neighbor when he was younger. He and his wife stood with their two young sons in their arms; the elder of the two, Edward, resembled his father even more now than he did in then. If it was even the same Edward. Which was impossible. Because he was dead. _And even if he wasn't, he'd be at least thirty years older than me!_ she thought. _And that is ridiculous!_

But there he was, sitting dejectedly in McGonagall's office, looking exactly as the five-year-old boy in the photograph had, except aged by ten years or so. Beside him sat a person in a suit or armor and a young blonde girl who seemed about his age, if not a slight bit older. Behind them paced a young man, maybe twenty seven, with black hair and eyes to match, in a blue suit of some kind, perhaps some kind of Muggle outfit.

"All right, Mum?" Ron asked from behind her where he stood with Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and most of the Order of the Phoenix.

"No," she murmured quietly, looking as though she were about to faint.

"Here, sit down, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, hastily conjuring a chair and sliding forwards.

The older woman gratefully dropped ungracefully into it. "Thank you, Harry, dear," she said, patting his hand absently, still gawking at the blonde teenager.

"Hey, anyvon ever tell you it's impolite to stare?" the boy snapped at Mrs. Weasley, scowling harshly. "God, you people…"

"Brudder," the person in the armor hissed, and the blonde girl next to Edward (yes, that really was his name…) pulled a wrench seemingly from nowhere and whacked him upside the head with it.

"Don't be jerk, Ed!" she growled.

"Vinry, t'at hurts!" Edward groaned, suddenly leaning heavily on his knees and rubbing the bump on his head. "Vhy is it t'at ev'ry time I open my mout', you figure out some excuse to vack me wit' t'at damn t'ing?!"

"Because you're a tactless jerk," the dark-haired man behind him said, shooting a charming smile at the teenager.

"Shut up, you morally—"

"Morally bankrupt Colonel vit' a God complex," the other three people with him finished.

"Ev'ry time it is t'e same t'ing, Brudder," the person in the armor said.

"At least be creative," the "morally bankrupt Colonel" added.

The blonde teenager began muttering incoherently under his breath, probably cursing the entire room of people in a language that none of the Wizards in the room knew.

Mrs. Weasley needed desperately to be distracted by something else. She turned her attention to the Order members behind her and saw that Hermione and Ginny were chatting in a hushed whisper, each stealing glances at the doppelganger of the would-be-dead boy from the photograph and giggling. Behind them, Harry looked slightly annoyed and Ron looked like he wanted to tear Edward limb from limb.

McGonagall finally was able to push herself to the front of the crowd of wizards and addressed them all. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?"

The chatting died away instantly and all eyes focused on McGonagall, who turned to the four foreigners before them and said, "May I present the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Edvard, military procedure," the dark haired man hissed and Edward, somewhat grudgingly, stood up and saluted, as did the Colonel.

"Major Edvard Elric, t'e Fullmetal Alchemist," Edward said stiffly, not easing his salute at all.

"Colonel Roy Mustang, t'e Flame Alchemist," Roy introduced himself.

"Alchemist?" The word was whispered amongst the wizards on the opposite side of the room.

"Alphonse Elric," the person in the armor said, standing up and bowing politely.

"Vinry Rockbell of Rockbell Prost'etics and Automail, at your service," the blonde girl said with a wide smile. "It is good to meet you all."

"I'm Arthur Weasley," Mr. Weasley said, extracting himself from the crowd and standing behind his wife's chair. "This is my wife, Molly, our sons Fred, George, Ron, Bill, and Charlie, my daughter-in-law, Fleur, my daughter Ginny, Harry, Hermione, our comrades Kingsley Shacklebolt, Remus Lupin, Tonks, Alastor Moody…" The introductions went on and each person raised a hand in recognition as their name was called.

Neither the Colonel nor the Major's stance changed, merely switching from a salute to a parade rest.

"It is nice be meeting you all," Alphonse said and each Order member practically could hear the smile in his voice.

"Major Elric, Colonel Mustang, please tell the Order your objective here at Hogwarts," McGonagall asked smoothly.

"To find t'e creator of t'e Philosopher's Stone, Nicholas Flamel," Mustang said.

"Or t'e Stone itself," Edward added.

"The Philosopher's Stone?" A murmur went through the hodgepodge of Wizards once again.

"Is t'ere an echo in here?" Edward muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"Behave, or I'll haff you court-martialed."

"I guess I'm not t'e only one who needs to get creative," Ed said with a hint of a smirk.

"I'm not kidding, Fullmetal. Shut up t'is instant or I _vill_ torch you."

"Yes, _sir_," he replied sardonically with a slight eye roll.

"The Philosopher's Stone was destroyed five years ago," Harry stated loudly, breaking up the argument between superior and subordinate.

"T'at's vat t'ey vant you to t'ink," Edward told him snarkily.

"I mean vat I say, Fullmetal."

"Yeah, yeah."

"It wasn't destroyed, as Major Elric so _eloquently_ told you," McGonagall said, shooting Edward a cold glance. "Instead it was kept hidden, as to where, I cannot tell you."

"What do you mean, you can't tell us?" Ron asked with his brow furrowing.

"I am not privy to that information."

"You, me, and t'e rest of t'e vorld."

"Brudder!/Edvard!/Fullmetal!"

"Why do you need the Philosopher's Stone?" Alastor Moody asked sternly. "Surely you don't want immortality, the ability to turn lead to gold, that sort of thing?"

"No, sir," Mustang said smoothly. "Quite t'e contrary."

"Ve vant its alchemic properties, specifically for a classified military operation," Edward said, this time dropping all hints of sarcasm.

"Classified military operation?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then you aren't getting it." Moody glared at them, his large blue eye swiveling around madly as he tried to take in everyone's interior. "You aren't normal people, are you, brothers Elric?"

"Ve're just as normal as you are," Alphonse said stiffly.

"I rest my case." Moody grinned slyly. "I think I know why you want the Philosopher's Stone. But if you want it you'll have to explain what you did in the first place to need it so badly."

"T'ey made a mistake and haff done t'eir best to leaff t'e past in the past," Mustang said coldly. "Now, I must ask you to leaff my subordinate and his brudder alone."

"Or what? You'll slap me with all those hidden gloves you've got on you?"

Edward snorted. "You're more of a bastard t'an he is." He broke his militaristic posture and jabbed a finger at Mustang.

"I varned you, Fullmetal," Roy sighed and brought his hand out of his pocket, snapping her gloved fingers together.

A small rush of fire nearly scorched Edward, who was able to jump out of the way just in time.

Each member of the Order whipped out their wands, even Mrs. Weasley, who seemed to have gotten over her initial shock.

"Don't do t'at… pleese…" Winry said, shaking her head and looking anywhere but at the Colonel. "It's… just don't."

Roy sighed and nodded. "As you vish, Miss Rockbell."

"Put t'ose t'ings avay," Edward yelped at the wizards. He was still obviously uneasy with the whole idea of wands and magic. "Ve don't need you vavin' t'em around!"

"Wandless magic! Easily the sign of a Death Eater!" Moody snapped, not wavering his position in the slightest. "Constant vigilance!"

"He just had to throw that in there," Ron muttered sarcastically, earning a stomp on the foot by both Hermione and Ginny.

"It's not magic, idiots!" Edward cried. "Now put 'em avay before I transmute t'em to t'e floor!"

"Wands away, please," McGonagall said with a sigh. "It's not even magic at all. You needn't worry."

Moody insisted on keeping his wand out as everyone else grudgingly put theirs away.

"What was that, might I ask? Some sort of Muggle trick?" Arthur asked curiously. His face lit up as it always did when someone mentioned Muggle culture.

"I haff no idea vat a Muggle is, Mr. Veasley, but I can assure you t'at t'is vas t'e revered flame alchemy t'at I am so famous for at home," Mustang told the wizard sternly.

Arthur's expression faltered only slightly before he asked, "And what exactly is alchemy?"

"It's a science," Edward explained, sitting back down. "Based around t'e principle ov Equivalent Exchange, it enables people to harness t'e energy flowing vit'in t'em vit t'e use of an array. Deconstructing, analyzing, and reconstructing matter is pretty much t'e… vat's t'e word… _gist_ of it."

"Sigh-enss?" Mr. Weasley said. "What's that?"

Edward groaned and Harry and Hermione slapped their foreheads. _Dolt…_

"It's a Muggle term, Arthur," McGonagall said.

"Ah," Mr. Weasley said.

"These men need to know of the Stone and in exchange for our resources and assistance in searching, they've agreed to defend our school and our cause. Colonel Mustang and Major Elric will be standing in as our Alchemy instructors."

"We have an alchemy class?" Hermione asked curiously.

"We did, many years ago, taught by the Headmaster himself, but since nobody signed up to take it for the last fifteen or so years, we just sort of let it fade away into the history of the school," McGonagall explained. "We've decided to resurrect it, given the… circumstances."

"I see," Kingsley said. "Well, we welcome you to Hogwarts, Professor Mustang, Professor Elric."

"I hate t'at title…"

"You hate authority in general, Ed," Winry sighed in her native language, fingering her wrench. "You just can't stand the fact that you've become the authority you hate."

"I've put up with that for five years already, why the Hell would it start to bother me now?!" Edward snapped, also in Amestrian.

"I don't know, it's your head, and since you never seem to open up to _anyone,_ I can't tell! I'm not a mind reader, Edvard!"

"I never said you were!"

"Then don't ask me to assume stupid things!"

"Who said it was stupid?"

"ENOUGH!" Alphonse cried in Amestrian, causing both seventeen-year-olds to stare at him. "You two fight all the time! Can't you at least _try_ to get along?"

The two were flabbergasted, staring at Al, then at each other, then at Al again, and finally Winry said, "S-sure Al. Sorry."

"Yeah. Right. What she said."

Alphonse shook his head and sighed. "You people…"

This small outburst was totally foreign to the Wizards of Britain, and each was silently begging the others to change the subject. Finally, someone spoke up.

"Erm, Professor Elric?" Molly Weasley finally spoke up. "Is your father Van Hohenhiem Elric, by any chance?

"How do you know t'at bastard?" Edward spat, suddenly changing demeanors.

"I take that as a yes…?"

"Of course it's a yes! Now vere is he so I can beat t'e living shit out of him?"

"Brudder, calm down!"

"H-he died a number of years back but… He said… you were dead." Molly finished with wide eyes, suddenly frightened of this boy's violent disposition towards the former neighbor she'd always thought so kind and gentle.

"Figures he'd say as much." Edward glared at nothing and folded his arms. "Hohenhiem vouldn't assume t'at I'd made it back to Amestris safely."

"Amestris?"

"Its vere ve're from. Vhere he's from. Of course you vouldn't know about it… It's on t'e ot'er side of t'e Gate…" Edward's frown deepened and he sat back down.

Winry looked at the group of wizards. "I t'ink t'at maybe it's time you leaff. I haff to do a tune-up and Ed kinda likes his privacy."

None of the Order members (save McGonagall) were quite sure what this meant, but they all decided to oblige them.

* * *

"There's something off about the motives for their search for the Stone," Moody said with a frown. "They aren't natural."

"The motives?" Tonks inquired.

"No, the people."

"How so?" Lupin asked.

"I can't say. Not sure if they'd want me to."

"Who?" Kingsley spoke this time.

"Why, the Elric kids of course."

"The Elrics?" Harry repeated, somewhat confused. "What motives could they have besides?"

"I told you, I can't say. But I can tell you that we might want to keep an eye on them in the future."

Harry was silent as he contemplated this. What Mad-Eye said was true; who knew who these people really were? What they wanted? Or whose side they were on?

* * *

"Edward, calm down and hold still so I can attach this damn plate to your leg!" Winry Rockbell was having a hell of a time trying to hold Edward Elric in one place to finish screwing his automail back into place as she hissed at him in her native tongue.

"I'll move however I want, damn it," Edward snapped, but obliged his mechanic as she forcefully shoved a screwdriver into the screws and turned hard. "Ouch! That's connected!"

"I know, now shut up!"

Edward obeyed.

"Thank you. Now. Edward, I really don't know why it would, but has your automail been freezing up easily since we got here?"

Ed thought about it for a moment before nodding slowly. "Yeah, it has."

Winry frowned. "Then we have a problem. There is nothing physically wrong with the wiring or anything, so it _should_ be okay, but be really careful not to do anything too _stupid_," she said, throwing a pointed glare straight at him. "That means no fighting with serial killers."

"That was a one-time thing!"

"Three times!" Winry cried. "Three!" She whacked Edward with her wrench again. "For the love of God, take care of yourself! We worry about you, you know!"

"Yeah, yeah, if you worried, then _WHY ARE YOU STILL HITTING ME WITH THAT DAMN THING?!_" Edward roared.

"Because it seems like it's the only way to get through that thick skull of yours, you moron!" Winry shrieked in response.

"It's not so much that it's the only way, Winry," Edward replied, gritting his teeth. "It's just that I don't give a shit about myself, as long as we reach our goal."

"If you don't care about your _own_ health, then you won't actually _achieve_ your goal!" Winry retorted, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him violently. "I know that Alphonse has told you before. Don't you see? If you can't take care of yourself, how do you ever expect to find the Stone?" The blonde's anger was dying down, slowly being replaced by a quiet sense of remorse. "Ed, I'm sorry that I can't make you care about your _own_ wellbeing. I'm sorry that I can't help you beyond your automail. But really. I care. I care more that you know." Her voice was barely above a whisper by now.

"Winry…" He sighed slightly. "Don't cry… Come on, please don't…" Hesitantly, he put his arms around her and hugged her, ignoring the fact that his automail twinged with pain at the movement.

"I'm not crying, stupid," she told him, smiling into his shoulder.

Silence.

Winry sniffed his shoulder three times, very audibly. "You smell nice."

"Thank you…?" After a second of confusion, Edward smirked. He remembered the first time they'd played the compliments game, something they'd come up with when they were six and Winry was teased about being "an ugly grease monkey" by some of the boys at school. Of course, Edward had whacked them all with books and sent them reeling, but Winry was hurt by it nonetheless. And so began the Game of Compliments. "You give good hugs."

"Thank you," Winry said, burrowing slightly deeper into his shoulder. "Your hair is pretty." She took one hand off of his shoulders from when she'd shook him and picked up his braid to prove her point.

"Pretty?" Edward asked, looking slightly hurt. "Winry, I'm a guy! Guys aren't pretty! They're… I don't know, but they aren't pretty!" He blushed a slight bit and mentally beat himself.

"Whatever. It looks _manly_ then," Winry said, merely compensating.

"Thanks," Ed muttered. "You have good… wrench throwing skills…"

Winry laughed.

* * *

_Okay. So. Honest responses? Please give me your honest opinions. I treasure them all greatly xD (No... seriously, I do.)_

_Thanks!  
~BANDGEEK_


	4. Hogwarts

Automail Sorcery Chapter 4

_Hey, folks, its me... again... with another update..._

_In honor of superbowl sunday. I'm not rooting for any particular team... The beer ads are the best part. (I love Bud's commercials, they make me laugh...)_

**_I DON'T OWN. YOU DON'T SUE. ENJOY._**_Dear Sixth and Seventh Year Students,_

* * *

_This year, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will be requiring all sixth and seventh year students to take a course in Alchemic Self-Defense, taught by two new professors, Mr. Edward Elric and Mr. Roy Mustang. Please be sure to purchase the following:_

_-blackboard chalk in large quantities  
__-a Muggle level-one chemistry book  
__-parchment, quills, ink  
__-a Muggle Periodic Table of Elements_

_We look forward to seeing you on September the first._

_Signed,  
Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress_

* * *

"Can you believe this load of crap they're trying to stuff down our throats?" Draco Malfoy snorted, tossing the letter aside as he rummaged through his trunk on the Hogwarts Express. "Alchemy nonsense."

"I think it's interesting," his girlfriend, Pansy Parkinson, sniffed. "Alchemy is supposed to be a dead art. The fact that there are still those who practice it is proof that it's still being learnt and studied."

"And it could be a valuable weapon for the Master," Vincent Crabbe added.

"Don't talk about that here," Draco scolded, whacking Crabbe in the face with his letter. "Goyle's already being held under suspicion, I don't need _you_ being held, too."

"Sorry," Crabbe said with a shrug.

"Idiot," Malfoy muttered.

"Why do you suppose we have two professors?" Pansy asked absently, her eyes flickering over the two names. "Isn't there usually only one teacher for each class?"

"That's a good question," Draco decided, his brow furrowing. "I suppose we'll have to investigate it. After all… Father will want to know."

"Your father, Draco," Pansy muttered. "Why is he so keen to know about every single little thing that goes on here?"

"I don't know, and I've learnt not to ask," Draco replied with a grimace. He vaguely remembered getting a lashing with the cane when he was ten by his father, who claimed that the boy "asked too many questions about pointless things".

Pansy looked up at him with curious pale eyes, then sighed somewhat dejectedly. "Why don't you ever talk to me about it?"

"Because you don't need to know. Drop it."

She looked slightly hurt, but let the subject go. "Alright."

Draco studied her for an instant before letting a brief smile cross his face. "Thank you, Pansy."

She smiled up at him.

Crabbe gagged.

* * *

"Do we still have to call him Professor Elric?" Ron wondered around. "I mean, he _is_ our age, after all."

"Yes, of course, Ronald," Hermione exclaimed, looking up from her chemistry textbook. "Why wouldn't we? Just because he's our age, doesn't mean he's at the same level as us. He's a Major in his military, for Merlin's sake!"

"Besides that, how is he not on the same level?" Ginny asked curiously from her window seat.

"He just… he just isn't. There's something in his eyes," Hermione decided, turning ever-so-slightly pink. "Almost the same look Harry gets sometimes. Like he's seen things that he had no desire to in the past, as though he had seen more than he wanted to."

Ginny nodded in understanding. "So did that Colonel friend of his, I suppose. Though it didn't seem so much with him."

"They're both fairly young to be in the military," Ron mused aloud. "How do you think they managed to get those ranks at their ages?"

Ginny shrugged and Hermione said, "Who knows?"

Harry shifted in his seat, snoring ever so slightly.

The train compartment was fairly empty, filled with only Ron, Ginny, Hermione, Harry, and the three pets that the four kept. The countryside rolled by in the bright, sunny afternoon and the sun streamed in through the wide windows of the train car.

"All that aside," Hermione began, "I _am_ curious as to why they called the class 'alchemic self-defense'."

"Maybe because we won't just learn alchemy?" Ginny suggested, somewhat shocked that the smartest person she knew could be so dumb. "Hence the 'self-defense'."

Ron laughed. "Even I knew that one, 'Mione!"

"But do you think either of them could honestly teach us how to defend ourselves with that?" Hermione pressed, her brow furrowing slightly. "Neither of them looked like they'd be much use in a fight."

"There's definitely more to them than they're telling us," Ron said, suddenly serious with a nod of his head.

* * *

Mustang surveyed the students filling the hall with great scrutiny, meticulously watching their each and every movement, particularly those with the green and silver crests on their robes, the students whom he was told would probably make trouble. None of these children looked like they knew the first thing about defending themselves, nor did they seem at all enlightened by the idea of anything but gossip and magic.

"What do you think, Mustang?" Edward asked from his seat beside the colonel.

"I think we have our work cut out for us, Fullmetal," the older alchemist replied, nodding at his own comment.

Edward snorted. "Sounds about right."

"Hello, there!" A new voice, a woman's, interrupted the two soldiers' conversation.

Both men looked around and saw a portly older woman with a huge smile and dark blue robes. Her frizzled hair stuck out at odd angles from under her pointed witch's hat.

"Good evening," Mustang said in English, turning on his charm and saluting.

"Evening," Edward muttered, following suit. He had been forced into the military uniform that had been given to him for special occasions. Apparently, according to Mustang, this counted.

"You must be the new professors," the woman said cheerily. "I'm Professor Sprout, I teach Herbology down in the greenhouses."

"Colonel Roy Mustang, I am a new alchemy professor," Mustang said, throwing a dazzling smile at the poor woman.

"Major Edvard Elric, also a new alchemy professor." Edward scowled in his superior officer's direction. Was he seriously flirting with a woman who had to be twice his age? _That bastard… Hawkeye would _not_ be happy if she ever found out…_Edward smirked. At least now he had blackmail for when they returned home.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Sprout said blushing and giggling at Mustang.

"And you," Edward said curtly. "T'ese are t'e students, no?"

"Yes, they are."

"And how old are t'ey?"

"First years are eleven years old, seventh years are seventeen."

"I see." Edward surveyed them as Mustang continued to flirt with the flustered professor. This would be a pretty piece of work, that was for sure. If Edward could keep up in a fight against his teacher at the age of nine, maybe ten, then these kids would certainly not stand a chance in real, legitimate hand-to-hand combat. But a thought hit him… _This will be fun._

The students quieted down some and eventually, McGonagall stood up at the front of the hall to address them all. "Good evening," she said, "and welcome back to another year here at Hogwarts. Due to recent events, we will have Aurors guarding each entrance to the school and patrolling the hallways, as well as two new staff members who have pledged to do their best in the interest of your safety." She glared at the Slytherins ever so slightly as she said this last bit. "I would like to introduce Colonel Roy Mustang and Major Edward Elric."

There was uproarious applause and loud squeals from most of the female student body as Edward and Roy stood up, each saluting the students of the school of magic.

"My name is Roy Mustang, I am t'e Flame Alchemist," Roy said, winking in the direction of the squealing girls.

"My name is Edvard Elric, I am t'e Fullmetal Alchemist," Edward said, standing stock stiff. His introduction was met with squeals and giggles that echoed across the room.

The two sat down, still the complete focus of the girls sitting before them.

_What exactly is so interesting?_ Edward wondered.

_How I hate having to break their hearts… But Hawkeye's back home… Hm…_ Mustang had his tell-tale smirk on, going unnoticed by everyone.

McGonagall silenced the students with a wave of her hand. "Assisting our school nurse and Healer will be Winry Rockbell, a talented doctor."

Winry stood up from her seat at the end of the table beside the woman known as Madam Pomfrey and bowed, smiling graciously. This time it was the boys of the school that cheered loudly.

"There will be more to say later, but for now, tuck in," McGonagall sat down and, much to Edward, Roy, and Winry's surprise, the empty plates and goblets in front of them filled with food and drink.

Edward spotted rum and reached for it, grinning madly. "Yes, there's rum!" he exclaimed in Amestrian.

"You're underage," Mustang pointed out, also in his native language.

"Screw that, I'm gonna get sauced. Besides, I'm only underage _here_. You know I've been drinking since I was fourteen."

"Thanks to Breda and his hair-brained plans," Mustang said, smiling somewhat happily.

"That bastard's never gonna let me live it down."

"And neither will I, for that matter."

Edward scowled.

The meal went on rather uneventfully. The blonde alchemist surveyed the students as he shoveled food into his mouth and Mustang continued to flirt with the female professors. Winry and Madam Pomfrey chatted one about different ways to treat one ailment or another and the food was delicious, keeping his mind off of his brother, who sat all alone up in the library, reading his figurative heart out.

As soon as dessert was finished, Edward and Roy watched in amazement as food disappeared entirely from the plates and platters on the table.

"This magic crap is something else," Edward muttered quietly to his superior. "How are they doing it?"

"Got me. We'll have to look into it at some point."

"Got it."

McGonagall stood and gave a speech to the students, giving a brief overview of school policies and some new school rules to be enforced. "In lieu of recent events," she ended with, "each student must be in their common room by eight o' clock PM, sharp. While it may not protect you entirely from any attacks, it will certainly keep you much safer than wandering the corridors. Now, classes begin early tomorrow morning. Off to bed with all of you!" She nodded and the students took that as their signal to dismiss themselves.

Prefects gathered first years up into large herds and guided them out of the hall as Edward and Roy stood.

Edward flexed his metal limbs, yawning deeply. "Boy, I could use a nap," he muttered to nobody in particular.

"Dinner was delicious," Roy remarked as Winry approached.

"I love these robes," she exclaimed, twirling around in them. It was an old nurse's uniform from when Madam Pomfrey was a great deal younger, long and white with billowy sleeves and a hem that pooled on the ground. Her blue eyes were lit up like a Christmas tree as she smiled at Edward, who, despite himself, found himself smiling back.

"At least you get to wear something comfy," Ed said, tugging at the collar of his uniform with his automail hand. "These things itch like _hell_."

Winry laughed as Roy gave the younger officer a noogie. "At least you don't have to wear it every day," the war hero said wisely.

"Yeah, at least I don't have to look like a tool when I go to work," Ed agreed with a smirk.

"You little—"

"I suggest you head up to your quarters, Professors, Miss Rockbell." McGonagall was suddenly beside them, giving Edward and Roy a stern look. "Classes begin at nine-thirty AM, on the dot."

"Oh, damn," Ed cussed in Amestrian. "Too early!"

McGonagall gave him a slightly puzzled stare.

"Ve understand, madam," Roy said in English. "Ve vill be ready for classes."

"Very well. Goodnight, you three," Minerva said, nodding curtly and turning on her heel, gliding towards a door to a side chamber that Edward, Roy, and Winry assumed led to a set of stairs or something of the like.

"We might as well head up," Winry said wisely in Amestrian, looking up at the ceiling. "I'm beat."

"You and me both," Mustang said with a sigh.

Ed scoffed slightly. Wimps. Couldn't even stay up till ten thirty without feeling tired.

"Onwards," Mustang declared, grabbing each teenager's shoulder and guiding them across the hall and out the massive oak doors.

It seemed like a long trek up to the small apartment within the castle in which the Amestrians were to stay. It was on the fifth floor, down a hallway with scarcely-used classrooms, and had four bedrooms, a sitting room, a study, a bathroom, a small kitchenette, a closet, and even a small workshop where Winry could focus on automail. All in all, it was a decent set-up for the four travelers.

Alphonse was already in the sitting room when the others returned, chatting amiably with a house elf while a book lay disregarded on his lap. While Alphonse asked about different sorts of magic used at the school, the elf, clothed in terribly-knitted, brightly coloured jumpers and hats, would respond enthusiastically and with reckless abandon. It would have been comical to see a foreigner stuck in a suit of armor talking to a tiny, poorly-dressed house elf had they all not been so tired.

"Going to bed, Al," Ed said in Amestrian, raising his automail hand in acknowledgement. "G'night."

"Night, Brother," Al replied then nodded at Winry and Mustang who exchanged pleasantries with him.

Edward slid into his room and collapsed onto the bed, thoroughly exhausted. He had not realized how tired he was until he finally entered the small apartment. _Damn, I'm loosing my touch. Whatever happened to being able to pull three all-nighters in a row?_ His eyes fluttered shut and he was asleep within minutes, not even dreaming at all.

* * *

Roy Mustang, on the other hand, was not so lucky.

He lay awake, staring at the stone ceiling mutely. His overlarge pajamas rode up to his chest under the thick woolen blankets and his hands folded under his head. He kept his eyepatch on out of mere habit from falling asleep in his office or with a woman. (No woman ever wants to see her date's burned out eye. Ever.)

The stone room he was in reminded him of the barracks that the Amestrian soldiers had taken shelter in during the Ishballan War of Extermination. The night outside was eerily quiet compared to the hustle and bustle of Central City, reminding him of the somehow silent nights of Ishbal, where both sides would be plotting their next move. Nothing but the hooting of owls from the Owlry and the howling of wild animals from the forest broke the serenity.

Mustang shut his eye, hoping for sleep to overcome him, and so it did.

He dreamed he was home in Amestris. He was with Hawkeye, Havoc, and the rest, just like any other day. And then he was called into duty. He was suddenly alone in a war zone, somehow, with a pistol in his hand and his finger on the trigger. And Winry Rockbell was there, begging, pleading, screaming, _"No! No! Don't do it! Don't kill them! Kill me instead! Me!"_ Mustang was relentless, keeping a steel face on, knowing that she was trying to protect the enemy. He had to eliminate the enemy. And then he saw the enemy themselves: Edward and Alphonse, Riza Hawkeye and the rest of his team, Doctor Marcoh, Maes Hughes… He had to kill them. It was his orders. _I can't do this!_ His mind screamed in protest, but his body paid no attention. He raised the handgun, aimed, and fired. One by one, they fell.

"_You bastard."_

"_You'll kill anyone under orders."_

"_What kind of leader would you be?"_

"_You killed my daughter… My baby girl…"_

"_Papa!"_

"_Where's my brother? Where'd he go? I can't leave him! I can't!"_

"_Don't shoot!"_

"_God will punish you!"_

The voices of fallen Ishballans kept coming back, screaming at him, pleading with him, cursing him. He saw them, half-burned corpses, eyes white, approaching. And he couldn't move.

For the first time in a long while, Roy woke up in a cold sweat with tears burning his eye. He truly was a monster.

* * *

Hermione Granger, for once in her short life, was not the only person excited for classes to begin the next morning.

Girls all over the school were whispering excitedly as they compared schedules, squealing in delight when they found that they had Professors Elric and Mustang that very morning. Boys groaned as their girlfriends and sisters excitedly began taking out their makeup and writing "LOVE YOU" and such on their eyelids, planning on blinking often in class.

"What do those bozos have that I don't?" Seamus Finnegan whined, poking half-heartedly at his eggs with a fork. "I'm better looking than both of 'em put together."

"You wish," Parvati Patil said, staring dazedly at Professor Elric. "They're both so handsome and rugged…"

Dean Thomas scoffed. "Rugged my arse."

"They are!" Lavender Brown insisted, frowning at Dean.

"Don't try arguing with them, mate," Ron said wisely. "Trust me. Ginny's been talking about him all night."

Dean and Seamus groaned.

Harry silently took a piece of toast from the diminishing plate in the middle of the table. His green eyes were slightly downcast at the mention of Ginny ogling another guy. However, he quickly pushed the feeling away, knowing that she was better off that way.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Neville Longbottom asked, pausing in his methodic "cut-then-eat-the-sausage" routine. "You don't look so good."

"Didn't sleep well," Harry half-lied.

Neville didn't seem to buy it, but dropped the subject. "If you say so."

Harry turned back to his kippers, not really paying much attention to the conversations around him. This morning he had potions with Slughorn, and Alchemic Self-Defense, and Transfiguration. Joy.


	5. Etude Op 10 No 3

**Chapter 5**

**Well, this has taken for-friggen-ever. Sorry. I hope you enjoy it! (Remember... If Ed and co's speech is ACCENTED then that means they are speaking English. If not, then they are speaking Amestrian.**

_I wrote the Ed and Winry scene with **Chopin's Etude Op. 10 No. 3** in mind ("**Parting Song/Wakare no Kyoku**" in FMA). Not the piano version, but the orchestral version that Michiru Oshima arranged. So... If you want a little musical cue for it... that's the way to go._

**I don't own either the Potterverse or the animeverse of Fullmetal Alchemist. They belong (respectively) to genius women JK Rowling and Hiromu Arakawa.**

**Enjoy.**

**FEBRUARY 13th EDIT:** _This chapter has been fixed in various places that a reviewer,_ **Pajaro Negro**_, pointed out to me where things either didn't fit or make sense or weren't correct. I would just like to take this chance to publicly thank them for their help and constructive critisism :) So... Thank you very much!_

_---_

Edward leaned back in his chair, lazily tipping it onto its back legs and kicking his feet up on the top of his desk. It was second period and he had his first class of the day, seventh year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. Fantastic. He surveyed the students that were busily entering and making themselves at home in the large stone classroom. The state alchemist grew bored with them and turned his head, gazing out the massive windows at the grounds outside. It reminded him of Resembool; it was almost comforting to him.

"Alphonse is in the library again," Mustang said, sitting down in the seat beside Edward's. "He said he'd be up here as soon as the bell rang."

Edward nodded absently. "Uh huh."

"Winry told me to tell you that she's packing a picnic, she wants to go check out the grounds today and you're going with her." This was true; she had run into him

"Uh-huh."

His responses were automatic. Excellent. It was time to have some fun. "And Hawkeye's here with Scieszka and their pretty friend Rebecca, a sniper from the East. They've promised a strip tease and have offered you a lap dance. You want in?"

"Uh-huh."

Roy smirked. "Really?"

"Uh-huh. Wait, what?!" Edward's mind seemed to have just registered the question he was asked. His golden eyes flashed in confusion, then widened in shock, and he started shouting, "OH HELL NO! COME ON, MUSTANG! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR?! YOU BASTARD!"

"Relax, Edward."

"RELAX? YOU'RE TELLING _ME_ TO RELAX?!"

"Yes, Fullmetal, I am. People are staring. Shut up, sit down, and get ready to teach. And that's a direct order."

Edward scowled at his superior, but did as he was told.

The students took their time, but eventually quieted down and watched the two Amestrians with great curiosity. Girls closed their eyes, letting their new professors know their "true feelings" towards them, and boys sized up both of them, trying to figure out how exactly would be the easiest way to take them down (A hex? Jinx? Knee to the groin?).

"Velcome to class," Mustang said, folding his arms and looking down his nose at the classroom full of teenagers. "I am Professor Roy Mustang. I am Colonel in t'e military."

"Edvard Elric, Major in t'e military," Edward said, nodding his head.

"Ve are here to prepare you for t'e horrors off t'e worlt," Mustang said, his tone absolutely serious. "T'ose off you who are not villing to put forff t'e effort should leaff now."

No one stood.

Edward smirked. "Now t'at we haff t'at sqvared avay, ve can get to real fun."

Mustang nodded, a playful smile lighting up his eyes, even though his face remained stolid. "Fullmetal? I vill let you start."

"Excellent." The blonde turned to the class and hauled himself out of his chair. "How many off you read t'e kemistry book ve assigned?"

A handful of hands went up.

"How many off you read it t'ouroughly?"

Only one girl's hand remained.

"I t'ought so. Miss, vit the brown hair, coot you tell me vat Equivalent Exchange is?" Edward crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked at her expectantly.

"Erm… I… I'm not sure…"

"T'e law off conservation off matter, t'en?"

Her face brightened instantaneously. "Yes. It's a fundamental principle of science that states matter cannot possibly be created or destroyed."

"Ten points to Gryffindor. Your name is…?"

"Hermione Granger, Professor."

"T'ank you, Miss Granger. Absolutely correct."

She smiled widely and slid down in her seat, batting her eyelashes at the professor who didn't seem to notice a thing.

"T'e law of Equivalent Exchange is much like t'e law off conservation off matter." Edward began pacing back and forth in front of the students, making eye contact with each of them. "Humankind cannot gain anyt'ing wit'out first giving somet'ing in return. In ot'er words, to obtain, somet'ing off equal value is alvays lost. It is impossible to make somet'ing out off not'ing in alchemy, much unlike t'e vand-vaving nonsense you luv so much."

Some of the students looked confused ever so slightly, but Edward went on. "For example, if von tries to create a tahver off stone out off a pebble, it vould fail. T'ere simply is not enuff rock to do so."

The confused look disappeared off of the faces of the students and realization seemed to dawn on them like light streaming from the heavens.

Edward and Mustang proceeded to switch off every so often throughout the duration of the sixty minute class. The students were somewhat chagrined to find that they had to memorize the periodic table of elements by the end of the next week, but they found that it was rather worth it. Not only were the professors good-looking, but they were experts at what they taught and made sure that each and every student could understand what the lesson was.

By the time the bell rang, the students were abuzz with talk about classes, especially the one they'd just left, as the second period class entered, curious.

The classes went on for the rest of the morning with no hesitations or interruptions, somehow flowing smoothly for the two alchemists.

After a brief discussion about researching a way home, Flame and Fullmetal parted ways, Mustang heading towards the Great Hall for lunch while Edward made his way to the hospital wing where he knew Winry would be ready for him, wrench and picnic basket in hand.

* * *

"Wow, we're so high up," Winry remarked, looking around at the Quidditch pitch at which she sat.

A few Hufflepuffs were having a quick practice session during their hour-long lunch break and Winry had insisted that Edward and she watch in the stands while they ate their meal. Neither of them had ever seen someone flying before, let alone on a _broomstick_, and it shocked them both.

Winry's eyes gazed lovingly at the wooden sticks, wondering if there was some kind of gears or propellers that made them fly the way they did while Edward wondered whether or not it was alchemy holding them up in the air.

_Whoever made them must have been skilled,_ they both thought, though about entirely different things altogether.

"Yeah, I guess we are kinda high up," Edward mused, looking down to the grass below and shrugging. It couldn't even have been fifty feet in actuality, but he really didn't feel like arguing with Winry at the moment.

"Imagine, people being able to _fly_ here," Winry said in awe.

"It's not impossible, you know, Win," Ed reasoned. "I mean, just because we haven't figured out a way yet, doesn't mean we _never_ will."

She shrugged and went back to her sandwich.

The two made idle conversation, occasionally lulling into a companionable silence, until Winry finally said, "Hey, Ed?"

"Hm?" he asked, tearing his gaze from the broomsticks to his childhood friend.

"This is gonna sound weird, and… out of the blue, I suppose but… What do you plan to do when you have Alphonse's body back?" Winry asked quietly.

Edward tensed for a moment before finally saying, "I… I don't know, exactly."

"Are you quitting the military?"

"…No."

She looked at him with big confused eyes, obviously asking why he would stay chained to something he seemed to hate so much.

"Winry… When Mustang takes over—" she noted his usage of the word _when_ "—he's going to need people in the military who support him. He's going to need help running the country. There's still going to be war, people are still going to get hurt and die. That old bastard's gonna need as much help as he can get."

Winry looked at her food again, silent.

"I'm sorry, I know that I said I wouldn't but—"

"I understand," she said softly with a small smile.

Edward was a bit flabbergasted. "Huh?"

"You want to help people. The military will give you a chance to do that. Don't pass it up, Ed," Winry said quietly.

"…yeah." His flesh arm wrapped around her shoulders and he pulled her close in a warm, one-armed hug.

She sniffed him silently. "Why do you smell like Mustang's cologne?"

"The bastard sprayed it on me this morning before our first class," Edward grumbled with a sigh. "Claimed that I had to act my age for once and impress some girls." He scoffed. "Idiot."

Winry smiled into his shoulder.

"I'm never wearing this crap again," he muttered.

"Aw, but it makes you smell good," she said. "Mingles with the oil nicely."

He looked down at her and felt blood rushing to his face. Suddenly, the Fullmetal Alchemist was glad that his childhood friend couldn't see him. "R-really?"

"Yeah. Reminds me of my dad a little, my real dad… He always smelled a little like this. Maybe more like oil or bleach. But you know... Same idea... And it reminds me of home." She wrapped her arms around him.

"W-Winry?"

"This place is so much like home… But it's totally different. I'm scared here, Ed, really and truly scared. That Wal-Mart or Voldeshorts or whatever guy sounds a lot like Scar, killing people he doesn't like just because of who they are or what they do. Except worse, because he's got followers." Her nose was buried in his flesh shoulder, nose resting against his shoulder blade.

"I'm sorry," he said, wrapping his arm tighter around her. "I didn't think things would be like this when you said you were coming. I thought it would be go, talk to Flamel, and then go home again. I didn't think… I didn't think I'd end up in another war." He rested his chin on her head. "I'm sorry you got dragged into this mess."

"Stupid idiot alchemist."

He didn't reply, knowing that he deserved it.

"When we get back, you are buying me anything and _everything_ I decide I want in Rush Valley, got it?"

Edward chuckled. "Sure, Winry. Anything you want."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

* * *

"So. Edward Elric, was it?" A tall, thin figure paced in front of the light of fire in a run-down, dilapidated house. "The Fullmetal Alchemist?"

"That is, indeed, his name, Tom." A slim-but-curvy figure sat in a large, overstuffed armchair in the same room.

"I believe I told you never to call me that," the man hissed. He had a high, chilling voice that would scare the wits even out of the most hardened of criminals. "Ever."

The other figure laughed. "Oh, Thomas Marvolo," they said, and it became painfully obvious that they were, indeed, female. "That is your name, Mr. Riddle, and I will _call_ you by that name."

"You don't call your followers by their names."

"No, I don't. But that's because they are no longer the same. You're the same man you were when you attended school, are you not? When you began seeking immortality, when you began your… conquest?"

The man sputtered and the woman giggled again. "You have much to learn about the way I work, Tom. Very much."

"Well, my Lady, I look forward to becoming your pupil. Teach me, won't you?" The man grinned wickedly and pulled the cloak he wore off of his head. Red, snake-like eyes glittered like rubies in the night, malevolent, foreboding, and lusty.

"Of course, darling," the woman replied, standing and approaching him. She put her hands on his shoulders and pressed her lips to his. "And soon, power will be in our hands."

"I like the way you think."

"Mm." Her thin hands slid down the man's chest and shoved his robe off of him. "Then let's get down to business… Shall we?"

"Your wish is my command, love."

"Excellent."


	6. Automail Sucks

**Uh... hi. *waves awkwardly* Remember me? Nope, didn't think so. :/ Whatevah.**

**So... yeah. This has taken waaaay longer than I anticipated. O.O Prolly will be my last update before band camp, and then school, and since with school starts marching band... Who knows when I'll have time to write again.**

**To put it plainly, this chapter is pure shit. I have no idea how I was going to end it. Blast it all, just... just... ignore me...  
**

Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist and Harry Potter are not mine. They are the sole property of Hiromu Arakawa and JK Rowling, respectively. Don't worry, I'll put my toys away when I'm done.

**This chapter was inspired by Joe Hisaishi's pieces, John Williams' scores, Michiru Oshima's "Fullmetal Alchemist" soundtrack, and Akira Senju's "Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood" soundtrack. I give a biiiig thanks to them, and also to the cast of **_"A Very Potter Musical"_**, which has made my life sooo much better and has allowed me to download the soundtrack which I listened to a LOT while I wrote this chapter. So TeamStarKid gets cookies.

* * *

**It had only been a week since classes had started and Edward's automail was already failing him.

"What's broken?" he demanded as Winry tinkered with some of the wiring.

"There doesn't seem like there's anything wrong with it," she said, inspecting the limb thoroughly. "I'm not sure what the problem is."

The alchemist frowned. "Damn it. I can't be held back by a stupid limb or two, we're here for a _reason_!" he growled under his breath.

Winry placed the coverings back onto the leg she was working on and screwed them firmly in place. "If it keeps happening, I guess we can talk to the Headmistress. Maybe she knows some spell or something to find out what's wrong."

Edward scowled at the idea of magic. It was so shady, so, so… unscientific.

"Hey, quit making that face," Winry instructed, dropping her tools back into her toolbox. "It isn't the end of the world."

"I don't like it," Edward muttered, glaring at nothing in particular as he pulled his shirt back on again. "It's not normal."

"And neither are you, but you don't see us complaining about it," Winry said with a smile. "Shorty."

"I'm not short! And I'm _very_ normal, thank you very much!" Edward snapped, standing up and stretching his metal arm.

"Says the child prodigy with a metal arm and leg and a suit of armor for a brother," came a new voice.

"Enough of you, Mustang," Edward growled, looking up to see the Flame Alchemist stride into the hospital wing where the Major had just gotten an automail tune-up.

Winry sighed and shook her head in exasperation.

"You know, if you keep scowling like that, your face will freeze that way," Mustang remarked with a smirk.

"And if you don't shut up, I'll give you a knuckle sandwich for lunch every day this week," Edward replied. "So we're even."

Mustang said nothing.

"What brings you here, Colonel?" Winry said politely, not looking at him.

"I just came by to remind Fullmetal that he ought to be keeping up with his research as to how to get home."

"I am, I am," Edward muttered. "Sheesh, Mustang. Don't you have better things to do than badger me? Like, I don't know, carry on illicit affairs with students or something?"

Winry whacked him with her wrench, abashed that he would suggest something so rude, while Mustang just laughed heartily. "Would if I could, Fullmetal. Would if I could."

"I don't know how your lady friends can put up with you," Edward wondered aloud, frowning and crossing his arms (though not without difficulty.) "Hawkeye, too. She must be about ready to shoot you."

Mustang simply smirked.

"You're all set, Edward," Winry said, putting her wrench back into her toolbox and collecting her supplies. "I'll talk to the Headmistress sometime this afternoon and I'll meet you in the entrance hall after dinner if there's anything I can do about it."

Edward nodded and stretched his metal appendages, grimacing slightly. "Fair enough. Mustang, I'll be outside before our next class."

The dark-haired officer nodded as his subordinate left the hospital wing, muttering about automail and its faulty wiring under his breath before turning to the blonde who still wouldn't look at him as she put the last of her tools back into her beaten metal toolbox. "Miss Rockbell," he said quietly.

"Yes?" she asked stiffly.

"Thank you for looking after Fullmetal and his automail. I appreciate you coming along with us," he said quietly.

"It's nothing," she said quietly, latching the box and removing her greasy work gloves. "If I hadn't come with you, Ed and Al would probably have been busted up beyond repair."

"That's true," Mustang mused.

There was silence between the two, broken only by the occasional chattering of the odd student out in the hallway or Madame Pomfrey bustling about, tending to patients with headaches or stomachaches.

Roy thought of all the things he could say. Something he could say to make the animosity disappear. But of course, there was nothing. She had every right to hate him. After all, he was the one who had killed her parents. He had been following orders, true, but that wasn't the point. The fact remained that he was the one who had done it. But he didn't want the hatred that still stood between them, the tension that filled the room like water filled a pond.

The colonel couldn't say a word. Instead of trying to make things "better," he left the hospital wing, putting on his placid, cool poker face. There would be a time; that time was not now.

* * *

"Sir, are you alright?"

Startled ever so slightly, Edward looked up from the notes on his desk. "Vy vould I not be?"

Hermione Granger appeared slightly taken aback. "W-well, sir, it's just, you seem a bit… stiff. Like it's hard to move."

"T'at is not t'e case," Edward replied, giving her an analytic stare. "I am just… tired."

"I'm not sure you're tired, sir, I mean, after all—" Hermione began but Edward's withering look caused her to trail off and shrink in her seat. "Sorry," she said meekly.

"Yes, yes," he said, picking up an open book from a stack on his desk and writing equations, formulas, and elements on the blackboard. "Now. Today, ve vill be looking at t'e structure of atoms in matter."

"I can't believe this," one of the students muttered to a friend.

"Vat I cannot belief is t'at you haff all gone for so long wit'out learning such basic kemistry," Edward responded coolly, still writing. "It is disgrace to education."

"You do realize this is a _magic_ school, Fullmetal?" Mustang asked in Amestrian.

Edward merely shrugged and continued.

"You vill remember t'e basic structure of each element, no?" Mustang said to the students as his subordinate finished his task. "Vat ve haff said about protons, neutrons, and electrons? About stable and unstable elements?"

There was a murmur of agreement.

"Excellent. Now ve begin on how each element becomes stable or forms new substance. Like vater," Mustang continued with his lecture. "Vater has formula off two parts hydrogen, von part oxygen. So for every molecule of oxygen in a cup of vater, t'ere is tvice as many hydrogen molecules."

"A vital part of alchemy is knowing vat substances and elements make up a material," Edward said. "Observe, pleese." With that, he clapped his hands and put his palms to the stone floor of the classroom. Bright, electric light came seemingly out of nowhere and the alchemist grinned as he pulled a sharp, intricate spear from the ground.

_Of course,_ Mustang thought with a sigh and a roll of his eyes.

Within moments, Edward had a long, dangerous-looking spear wrapped in his hands. He grinned wickedly. "Do you see vat I am getting at?"

There were many murmurs of awe and blank stares of confusion.

Edward's face dropped. "I suppose not." He sighed, shaking his head. "No matter. Vat I mean is t'is; if I had not known vat elements and t'eir respectiff amouts vere in t'e stone of t'e floor, t'en I vould not haff been able to create a spear."

"It is incredibly difficult to know exakly how much of vat materials vill make up a piece of matter," Mustang said, crossing his arms in front of him. "Major Elric is vat is called a 'child prodigy'. Few alchemists can do such… trying vork. T'is is vy most of us specialize in von type of alchemy."

Edward clapped his hands and returned the spear to the floor. "For example, t'ere vas vonce an alchemist named Isaac McDougal. He vas a state-certified scientist who specialized in vater alchemy." _Of course, he also tried to assassinate the Fuhrer and half of Central,_ he recalled to himself, picturing his thirteen-year-old self as part of the force involved in his arrest.

"T'ey gave me title of 'Flame Alchemist' because I specialize only in flame," Mustang added with a smirk. He snapped his gloved fingers and Edward yelped as a short burst of flame erupted out of nowhere beside his head.

"Holy shit, Mustang!" he cried in Amestrian.

Mustang shut his eyes and chuckled. "Such t'ings like t'is are extremely difficult to master, but if you manage to, t'en you are considered esteemed. Such forms of alchemy are nearly impossible to learn."

"But you did it, Professor Mustang," one of the Ravenclaw girls said in a low, sultry voice. "Didn't you?"

"Yes," Mustang said, raising an eyebrow and smirking in her direction. "I did indeed."

Had this story been a shoujo manga, the poor student would have been stabbed with Cupid's arrow. However, it is not. So the young lady swooned as her cheeks turned bright red.

"It vas skill learnt from his lieutenant's fat'er," Edward drawled, grinning widely. "She is… vat is t'e vord… _enamored_ vit Mustang's skill."

Several of the girls gasped, muttering amongst themselves about Mustang's love affair with his lieutenant and some giggled as Roy glared at his subordinate. The male students in the room rolled their eyes at the antics of the ladies.

The class continued on as per the usual, which was Edward and Roy switching of explaining concepts and lessons while they made jabs at each other, the female student population swooning, and the boys in the class giving their teachers death glares.

"T'ere vill be qviz Friday on basic principles you haff learned," Mustang said as the students packed up. "Be prepared!"

* * *

Edward groaned in aggravation as his automail creaked and hissed quietly. His ports ached as the air outside was rather chilly compared to most of Amestris. "Damn metal arm and leg," he muttered in his native tongue, limping across the entrance hall towards the Great Hall for lunch. At least he didn't have to put up with any more scientifically-inept students until the following morning.

"Brother!"

The blond alchemist turned, slightly surprised and saw his younger brother running down one of Hogwarts' many hallways towards him. "Hey, Al!"

The young boy had been blending in rather well, seeing as many of the suits of armor around the castle were enchanted and had minds of their own. People didn't give him so much as a second glance at Hogwarts, which made a rather nice change from being gawked at all the time in Amestris.

"Edward, I found something on Nicholas Flamel in the restricted section," Alphonse said excitedly, catching up with his elder brother. He held out a thick, dusty book that looked as though it had only been recently opened. The book had no title on its cover or spine, but that hadn't stopped Alphonse from opening it.

"Great, great," Edward said, waving a hand and managing a smile at his brother.

"Is your automail hurting?" Alphonse asked, following his brother towards the Great Hall.

"Killing me, but I'll live," Ed replied, laughing half-heartedly.

"Did Winry find anything wrong with it?"

"Nope. Neither of us is sure what's aggravating it."

"The cold?"

"Nah, I don't think that's it. It's usually not nearly this bad in cold weather."

"That's strange." By this time, the two had reached the doors to the Great Hall.

"Are you coming in, Al?" Edward asked, pausing halfway through the door.

The suit of armor hesitated before shaking his head. "No thanks, Brother. I'm going back to the library to look up some more materials."

The two of them parted ways and Edward headed through the crowds of hungry students to the staff table, where his plate was waiting to be filled.

As the Fullmetal Alchemist ate his supper, he thought hard and long about their predicament to get his mind off of the aching limbs attached to his self. Nobody here so far had known a single thing about the Gate. Alchemy was, as it had been expressed to him earlier, a dead art. Though he hadn't been able to get to read the texts in the library, he found the textbooks that had normally been issued to students had many, many gaps and mistakes. The basic idea was the same, but the information was far off.

"Professor Elric, how good to see you," McGonagall said, taking a seat next to the blond.

The young man looked up and gave her a curt nod. "Afternoon, Professor McGonagall," he said stiffly.

"How are your classes faring so far?" the older woman asked pleasantly, spooning mashed potatoes onto her plate.

"Vell so far, I suppose. I do not know if t'ey vill be able to keep up, t'ough." Edward smirked to himself as he reached for a pitcher of fire whiskey.

"And why is that?"

"I haff… How to put it… Vat some might call an _unort'odox_ met'od of teaching. T'e very same my teacher used vit me. Call it toff love if you vill."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Tough love, Professor Elric?"

"Yes, t'at is it. My teacher dropped Al and I off on a deserted island vit not'ing but a knife and told us ve had to survife for a mont'." He grinned at this fond memory.

McGonagall looked slightly shocked. "Surely you don't mean to leave those children on an island for a month!"

"No, no, ma'am, off course not," Edward said hastily, trying to hide his smile as he poured some amber-colored drink into a waiting goblet. "If I had my vay, t'ey'd do it t'e vay my teacher did it; alone in t'e vinter at Mount Briggs, von of t'e coldest, harshest, snoviest places in t'e country of Amestris."

McGonagall looked shocked.

"Al and I almost had to endure t'at, too." He shuddered, despite the warm, bubbly sensation of butter beer running down his throat.

"Just what kind of a person _was_ this teacher of yours?"

Edward's grin returned. "She vas a housewife."

The elderly woman stared at him, aghast, but he ignored it, turning back to his meal.

"Edward, how's your automail?" Winry chirped in Amestrian, plopping down into the seat beside him with a grin. "Holding up alright?"

"Yeah, so far," he said, ignoring the twinges of the artificial nerves. "It still hurts like a bitch."

"Language," Winry chided him happily, spooning salad into a bowl.

"Whatever, it's not like they know what I'm saying anyway."

"That isn't the point."

"I don't give a crap if its the point or not. Its not like you can wash my mouth out with soap or anything. That wouldn't end well for you _or_ me."

Winry rolled her eyes. "Edward, I hope you know that you're a pain."

"I get that a lot."

She sighed and shook her head. "Sheesh, Ed."

"Sheesh, Winry," he mimicked, cutting his chicken into large chunks and stuffing one into his mouth.

"Have a little more class, would you?" the blonde girl said, narrowing her eyes at him.

He chewed, swallowed, and grinned at her, lifting the butter beer again. "I do it for you."

She gave him a snort of disgust and turned back to her meal, muttering something about Edward and his general stupidity.

He gave her an amused, satisfied grin and turned back to his meal with vigor, suddenly very hungry.

The meal continued for him in silence, as he gave no invitation to anyone to make human contact. He finished up and took one last hearty drink of the butterbeer, silently wishing for some good old-fashioned brandy from Pinako's liquor cabinet. She always had the best. "I'm heading up for now, I'll probably be in the library and then head off to bed," he told Winry quietly, stifling a yawn with his flesh hand. "Don't worry about me or Al, alright?"

She nodded up at him and said goodbye, under the impression that she wasn't going to see him until rather late in the evening, or else very early the next morning.

Edward turned on his heel and strode around the staff table and towards the massive double doors at the end of the hall, oblivious to all the subtle and not-so-subtle glances his female students were giving him. All he really wanted was to get to the library, his sanctuary of books and solitude, the wonderful scent of ancient texts and volumes, the glorious feel of the pages in his hands, the enlightenment of the information they all held! Oh, what fantastic feeling, the feeling of being wonderfully genius and literate! Ah, how he loved it.

Of course, things like this never went well for Edward.

Halfway down the hall his automail leg gave out from underneath him, pushing him face-first into a meeting with the hard, flagstone floor. With a resounding "thud", the Fullmetal Alchemist fell to the ground and reached instinctively for his leg, gasping ever-so-slightly in surprise at the sudden shot of pain that raced from his foot to the flesh it was attached to.

The students cried out, laughed, or called for professors, but the one noise Edward could make out was Winry shouting loudly in Amestrian about him lying to her about his automail.

"Moron! How am I supposed to fix it if you don't tell me it's faulty?" she cried, racing around the staff table towards him.

"How am I supposed to know its faulty?" he yelled back, biting back the cry of pain he instinctively wanted to let out, struggling against himself to sit up properly. "It just gave out on me two seconds ago!"

By this time, Winry had reached him, looking rather concerned. She dropped to her knees next to him, ignoring the curious looks that the students were giving the two Amestrians and tuning out the other professors' speech. Without any hesitation, she shoved Edward's pant leg up to his knee and began examining his appendage thoroughly. "The suspension is fine, the hydraulics don't seem to be busted up…"

The student body gasped and began gossiping the instant that their alchemy professor's leg was exposed and Edward groaned. There would be a bombardment of glares, stares, gossip, stupid questions, and an overall mess that he had hoped to avoid. "Thanks, Winry," he muttered sarcastically.

"What on Earth is wrong with his leg?" the portly Professor Slughorn asked, somehow managing to waddle over to him.

"T'e vires in his leg cannot get t'e electric signals from t'e brain," Winry noted, lifting his leg carefully. "Everyt'ing by vay of mechanics iz fine, but t'e vires…"

"My dear girl, did you say 'electric' signals?" Slughorn asked with a chortle.

"She did," Edward said, watching her examine his leg.

"Well, there's your problem!" the round man boomed, clapping a hand atop Edward's head. "He'll need a specialized charm for that to be able to function around here."

The blond alchemist scowled and shook his head vehemently, forcing the pudgy hand off of his cranium. "Magic?" he snarled.

"Yes, boy, magic."

Edward scoffed. "I won't let them use it on me, Winry," he said bluntly in Amestrian.

"Don't be silly, Ed. You _have_ to take this chance, otherwise you might never walk while you're here and have to ride in a wheelchair or be carried around by Mustang." She smirked at the shocked and slightly disgusted expression that crossed her childhood friend's face. "Now, what do you think about that?"

"I'll let them use the damn magic," he muttered, still speaking Amestrian. His eyes glared at the flagstone floor, leaving Winry to translate and ask for assistance getting him to the hospital wing, if it was needed.

She wrapped his flesh arm around her shoulders and helped him onto his flesh leg, the other one hanging uselessly from his left thigh. "Come on," she told him. "Work with me, here, Ed."

Together, the two of them managed to make their way out of the Great Hall and up the stairs (God knows how) to the small apartment in which they were staying.

Edward flopped onto the sofa once he was inside as Winry, flanked by Professors Slughorn and McGonagall, who had seen the commotion from the faculty table, began talking about automail, how it worked, what spells could or should be used, and more along those lines.

"Could I pleese haff t'e spell now?" Edward groaned loudly. "My leg hurts like bitch."

"Edward!" Winry scolded in Amestrian.

"Vaaaaat?" he replied in English, frowning and raising his hands in a helpless shrug. "It does!"

Winry gave him a withering look before returning to her conversation with the two teachers. She carefully explicated how automail worked and helped the two of them figure out a safe charm to make sure that Edward would be able to function properly.

The blond professor sat somewhat impatiently on the couch as this whole discussion went on, and it wasn't long before he started counting the number of stones on the far wall. He was just _so bored…_

"Alright, Professor Elric," McGonagall finally addressed him, briskly walking around the sofa and standing in front of him, looking stern and solemn. "We have a spell we're going to use now on both your arm and leg."

"How does it vork?" the young man asked, curious.

"Don't bother asking us that," McGonagall snapped, pulling her wand from the waistband of her dress. "Now. This is going to hurt where your nerves connect, but I can easily get you a potion to reduce the pain, if you wish."

"No potions," Ed spat disdainfully. "Don't trust t'em. You are lucky I am letting you cast a curse or vatever on me."

"I can assure you, Professor Elric, there will be no cursing of any sort going on," McGonagall replied, looking mildly offended. "Now, keep still."

Edward screwed up his face, grit his teeth and swallowed the pain that suddenly shot through his ports as the older woman waved her wand and murmured a few complicated phrases that Edward did not understand. When she finished, she stepped back and Professor Slughorn, who had been observing silently from the other side of the room, stepped closer to survey the damage. Edward let out a small groan and dropped his head onto the back of the sofa.

"Are you alright?" Winry asked in Amestrian, kneeling on the other side of the couch and brushing Edward's bangs out of his upside-down face. "Do you want some of the painkillers Gran gave me?"

Edward shook his head. "Don't worry 'bout me," he replied quietly in his native tongue. "Really. It's not… It's nothing I can't deal with."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded silently, pulling a weak smile across his features.

Winry watched him quietly for a few more moments, then sighed and stood, stepping around the couch to where McGonagall and Slughorn had taken hold of Ed's arm and leg, examining them carefully.

"You built these, Miss Rockbell?" Slughorn asked.

"I did," she answered in English, grinning. "T'ey are special designs. Ed alvays breaks t'em real good, so I vas… proactive."

Slughorn grinned up at her with beady eyes. "You did a superb job!"

"T'ank you, Professor Slughorn," Winry beamed with a little giggle. "It is refreshing to know t'at t'ere are people in t'e vorld who can appreciate good automail." At this, she gave Edward a rather pointed glare.

"Feh," he said in response, smirking at her angry expression.

Winry stared at him for a moment longer before enthusiastically answering any and all of the questions that Slughorn and McGonagall asked her.

Before Edward really registered what was happening, Slughorn and Professor McGonagall had been invited to dinner in the small apartment with them with some of Winry's delicious home cooking, rather than going down to the Great Hall.

_For the love of God,_ he thought to himself, sighing and standing up with a great amount of effort. "I'm going to go… help Al with research," he declared in Amestrian, ignoring the two other professors in the room. "I won't be back for dinner, don't worry about me."

"Really? But I'm going to see if I can have an apple pie finished for later tonight," Winry said, looking up from her food preparation.

Edward was silent for a moment, then turned and approached the door. He was halfway out before he paused and said, "…maybe I'll be back." With that, he strode out into the hallway, ignoring the dull, throbbing pain in his ports, and headed off to the library.

"Vy must he be so rude to you?" Winry sighed, glaring at the doorway. "I am sorry he is acting like a child. I do not understand vat has gotten into him. He is in t'e military; aren't t'ey supposed to show respect?"

"Professor Elric doesn't seem to be your conventional teacher," Slughorn said with a hearty laugh. "I doubt he'd be your average soldier, too."

Winry gave a halfhearted smile. "I suppose…"

"Now, how about that dinner?"

* * *

Alphonse internally sighed as he flipped through yet another hopeless book. He was getting nowhere.

"Hey, Al," he heard a familiar voice say, and the suit of armor looked up as Edward Elric dropped into a seat across from him.

"Hi," he replied, gently shutting his book.

"I heard about what happened in the Great Hall today," Alphonse said. "The ghosts wouldn't keep quiet about it."

"Yeah," Edward said with a little grimace.

"Did Winry fix you up?"

"Nope. McGonagall and Slughorn did."

"Was anything wrong with it, you know, mechanically?"

"It was all fine. The metal and suspension wasn't busted, the wires were secured, it was just the electric signals from my brain getting all screwed up."

"There's something wrong with your brain?" Alphonse sounded amused.

Edward groaned, ignoring the jab and dropping his head onto the book that lay in front of him. "No. The electric signals weren't working on the automail. They weren't being amplified because of some weird magic repellant or something."

"Is that it?"

Ed lifted his head and sighed with a shrug. "I don't know and, frankly, I can't care less. I just want to be able to walk around without falling over a hunk of useless metal."

Alphonse, were he able to, would have smirked ever so slightly. "Don't worry, Brother. I'll get you arm and leg back so you won't have to worry about that ever again."

"You first, Alphonse. You're more important." Edward grabbed a book from the "to-be-read" pile at random and flipped it open to a page halfway through. "And we will succeed, no matter what."

"Right."

* * *

**I swear to you, there will be Draco action in the next chapter. I have some rather evil ideas regarding him... A-durdurdurdur...**

**So. Reviews, as always, are appreciated. CRITIQUE, especially!**

**Anastasia, if you're reading this, now will you shut up and let me alone! THANK you! Sheesh!**

**Anyhow, thanks guys!**

**~BANDGEEK  
**


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